"You’ve never actually set foot inside a proper, official shipping hall with us, have you?” Gaylen asked Kiris.

“Nope. Just waited outside that one time, remember? The second time we went to Gveloh?”

Gaylen looked up. The hall occupied the top three floors of a fairly large complex, but he knew from experience, and from glancing at the place’s homepage, that most of the space was taken up by docks and storage areas. One of the city’s walkways brought them right up to the main door to the public part of the hall.

Those small, personal vehicles and silly, silly hoverchairs buzzed by on the lanes set aside for them, while the foot traffic half was fairly empty. It left Gaylen free to hesitate a bit and turn and look.

The complex was tall enough, in comparison to most of the surrounding cityscape, to give a fairly good view. Down below one could glimpse ground traffic, above it were several layers of walkways, and above those were drones and aircars, topped, finally, by actual ships.

Gaylen had been to places that felt like stepping into a gigantic hive of buzzing insects crawling over one another, making all this seem relatively tame. Still, it was ample cover for the pirates to be pulling something. Anything. His group had stuck to routes and transportation methods that made a direct assault nigh impossible, but who knew how long that luxury would last?

“Alright, prepare to be amazed,” he said, tucking those thoughts out of immediate reach, as he was the first one through the door.

Kiris, Herdis and Bers followed. What greeted them was a plain front room that showed listings and scrolled through the latest news from the immediate lane routes, as well as a basic security scanner. With nothing to hide, Gaylen strode right through, and on to the main floor.

The dominant colour scheme was a warm brownish-red, and everything in sight hewed to the familiar model. There were boards for runners, and separate ones for people who needed something shipped. There was a listing of on-site services, as well as for ones within easy reach. And, of course, there was a lounge.

Bers breathed deep.

“Brandy,” the man muttered.

“Smell it all you want, man,” Gaylen said. “But leave it at that.”

“No fun, dagi,” Bers grumbled.

“You’ll have fun when the pirates strike, I’m sure.”

That cheered the man up a little, but Gaylen’s focus wasn’t on him. He led his group into the lounge area. It was centred around three separate service tables, offering food, snacks, and drink both plain and intoxicating. The seating was at about half capacity, divided into several groups chatting away. Most of them consisted of a crew, identifiable as such through matching clothes, or two separate crews getting to know one another.

Gaylen moved past a few tables where a single person ate in peace, or a couple canoodled, but for the most part this was a place for runners to exchange news, warnings and advice. These places were where reputations developed, and they were the best and worst spots for staying informed, because bullshit travelled at least as fast as the truth.

They did a single pass, going through each of the three sub-areas, and at the third service table Kiris quietly pointed out good candidates for conversation. She and Herdis then went back to the first table, while Gaylen and Bers went to the second. They bought light drinks, then ambled around with the demeanour of people looking for company, innocently drifting in the direction of Kiris’s picks.

“Oh, hey!” a heavyset woman said at the sight of Gaylen and Bers. “Where are you blowing in from?”

Not a mind reader, my ass, Gaylen thought, and gave Kiris a quick glance, though she wasn’t looking his way at the moment.

“Just blowing past, from Black Brayer,” he replied. “With cargo.”

He indicated the empty chairs by her table with a question on his face, and she motioned for them to sit.

“What’s your home port?” asked a man next to her. They, and two others at the table, wore matching yellow bandannas. It certainly didn’t amount to a company uniform, but some freelance crews liked to do stuff like that.

“Oh, it’s just the open lanes for me,” Gaylen said as he sat down.

“Oh, a true spacer,” the woman said.

“An actual voidborn would argue against that, but sure. I’m Gaylen, I own the Addax, along with my partner, Jaquan of Xangan. I fly it, too. This is Bers.”

“Mm!”

What followed was the usual sort of chat, about each side’s last stop, next stop, particularly memorable stops, as well as homeworlds and freight. Gaylen just let things flow naturally, and Bers didn’t have much to add through that language barrier of his.

Gaylen had never hunted, but someone who did had once described the process as being all about patience, allowing the perfect moment to come on its own, before striking. And that was how he treated the conversation; with patience, and a planned, decisive strike when an opening came to insert it smoothly.

“So, are you worried about the war at all?”

“Oh, there’s always a war somewhere, isn’t there?” one of the men said.

“Well, you know the one I mean.”

“It’s grinding down, isn’t it?” the woman said. “Ever since Ciinto Res. Fewer active war zones, more lanes reopening… and a lot of little mini-tyrants finding that their Authority backing has evaporated.”

“Yeah, those are fun,” Gaylen said. “I’ve heard the designation ‘paper kings’.”

“Bwah!” Bers guffawed.

“We’ll be sure to do our part in spreading that,” the woman said. “Yeah, paper kings. Shot taxation up into orbit, set lots of stupid little rules…”

“Some governor made a rule about beards,” one of the men muttered.

“... all done in the shadow of an Authority garrison, or at least an orbiting ship. Did you see that incident where some sort of royal figurehead of a parliamentary democracy decided his time and come, and declared his planet a protectorate of the Ulaka Authority? And himself its absolute ruler?”

“And the Authority division he was counting on got redirected to some failing battlefront or another?” one of the men finished with grim joy. “Yeah. That was beautiful. Especially that press conference he had to give afterwards.”

“Did you see an actual video version of it?” Gaylen asked. “Or was it text or audio?”

“Video. I didn’t know a human being could sweat that much just from talking.”

“I think he was trying to melt, and trickle off that stage,” the woman said.

“Heh.”

“So, no trouble here at all?” Gaylen asked.

“Oh, we didn’t say, did we?”

After a while Gaylen excused himself and stood up. He joined Kiris and Herdis, at their own private little table a bit away from the rest of the visitors, where they exchanged notes.

With all that in place, Gaylen went to the management station with Kiris in tow. It was best to approach these things without being too brusque and businesslike about it, and to go in with some idea of which questions to ask.

Ever-changing holographic lights served as a screen, but it deactivated once Gaylen was up against his side of the table. Behind it was a male Dwyyk, clad in an orange and red outfit that looked just official enough. The lighting was dim, to shield the man’s sensitive eyes, and the white skin and hair turned him into something of a ghost within the enclosed space.

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Kiris rested up against Gaylen, in a way that no one was likely to take special heed of. But they’d devised their own little code of subtle touches that let him know when she smelled a rat.

“Hello,” Gaylen said in Bakiso, since it was a listed language. “Are you the local manager?”

“Co-manager,” the man said. “But let’s just say yes.”

“I’m Gaylen Qin. I just touched down on the Addax today…”

The rep’s right hand moved lightning-quick to check recent landings. His eyes only left Gaylen’s for an instant.

“... and I thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Always happy with visits, us here,” the Dwyyk said. “My name is Erdon.”

He raised a hand in greeting.

“I see this is the first time your ship has been to Fernand. Is it the same for both of you?”

“It is,” Gaylen said. “And I tend to land curious.”

“The right amount of curiosity keeps you runners alive, I find,” Erdon said. “You guys may get rumours and accounts, but I get those and numbers.”

He spun his chair in a single circle, holding his hands out to the screens, desks and holographic readouts that made up his station. Gaylen found that he rather liked the man.

“You were never a flyer yourself?” he asked.

“Pff, no. My whole extended family is involved with ships to some degree, but none of us fly. There’s plenty to do planetside, especially when you can squeeze into machinery and ducts without having to tear everything apart.”

“You’re a whole family of engineers?”

“Engineers and, ahem, assorted ship-related… types,” Erdon replied, with somewhat showy self-consciousness. Gaylen got the impression that he hadn’t been able to make the degree. “We’re second and third generation immigrants. A chunk of us moved here from Dwyyk itself a while back, and honestly, I’m perfectly happy here. What about you?”

“Am I happy here?”

The Dwyyk spun in another circle.

“Yup.”

There was a knowing gleam in his eyes when he stopped. Shipping hall managers tended to serve as living information boards. This was more prominent on space stations a fair distance from urbanised planets, but the man still probably sensed that a point of some sort was coming.

“Let’s just say that I’m working on being happier,” Gaylen told him. “What can you tell me about the local piracy situation?”

“Well… you’re not just asking a general question, are you?”

Gaylen considered his answer for a couple of seconds. Reputation was important in the running business. Distances were vast, and numbers immense, but spacers, after all, liked to talk. So it behoved managers to be helpful and on the level. It was a tendency more than a rule, but between that and Kiris not giving any alarms, Gaylen decided to be straightforward.

He did check that no one else was close enough to overhear, then spoke.

“War Clan Birok. Do you know anything about it?”

“Mm. Scorchspace,” Erdon said, and rested his hands behind his head. “Lovely place. Durable, infected scab on the ass of the galaxy.”

He did another check of his screens, slightly slower than his last one.

“Birok. Yes. It’s a known name.”

“Known and tolerated?” Gaylen asked.

“Tolerated?”

The Dwyyk inhaled slowly.

“Oh, you seem like you know how this stuff goes.”

“I know there are degrees,” Gaylen told him.

“Yeah…”

Erdon cleared his throat.

“I guess I would put them at about… average, in that regard. They don’t control anything here. They can’t declare themselves openly, and they know to leave the really big shipping companies alone.”

“But medium or lower is fair game?”

“I suppose. There are always rumours of companies making deals with pirates.”

“Protection money,” Gaylen said bluntly, which got a smile out of the rep.

“Yeah, but don’t let them hear you call it that. Look, if you want me to help you, we’re going to have to be a little more up front with each other. What exactly do you want from me?”

“I want to know where I can fish for more information on them,” Gaylen said. “And whether they can call on local outfits to provide muscle on short notice.”

“Muscle, well… serious, professional muscle around here is always tied up with one of the big outfits, or companies. But we do have a fair bit of crime, so there are plenty of lowlives one might throw some money at.”

Gaylen nodded slowly. That was the way places like this worked, so this was something of a best-case scenario.

“As for info… look, I don’t get involved with these types…”

A hesitancy had crept into the man. Gaylen had seen its like many times, and he was neither surprised nor disappointed. What he was less sure of was whether Erdon was the type to give in to pressure, or to dig his heels in.

“Our lives may depend on it,” Kiris said.

The accusation in her voice was very subtle; like a bit of salt in a mild meal. But it was detectable and, Gaylen knew, carefully chosen to target the man’s defences.

“Alright,” Erdon said with a sigh. “Look, I really don’t get involved with these types, but for local connections you might try the Quarter Quarter. And no, I didn’t just stutter.”

“The Quarter Quarter?”

“Lower-end commercial and residential area,” Erdon clarified. “It is known to tie into lower-end shipping outfits, and smuggling. And you know what that ties into.”

“I do.”

Erdon threw his hands up theatrically.

“It’s all a big, beautiful web, isn’t it?! Heh.”

“Alright, thank you,” Gaylen said. “But on to something less hush-hush…”

“By all means.”

“...what is this about a ‘Lawless Black’?”

“Ah,” the Dwyyk grunted. “Yeah.”

“The other runners said they’ve been hearing the term. They also say there’s a heavy police presence in the city. Unusually heavy, and a fair amount of general anxiety among the population. And it all matches the impressions we’ve been getting from your local datasphere.”

“It’s a problem, is what it is,” Erdon told them. “There’s an annual maintenance overhaul of the city’s public electrical grid. And the damn thing is old, and no one is willing to spend the money to fully replace it. There’s a history of blackouts, lasting two to four hours. Oh, the powers that be promise that this year everything’s been prepared and thought of, and that everything will be fine. They were even right, last year. But not the year before that. Or the one before that.”

“And blackouts are when the vermin come out,” Gaylen said.

“Indeed. And grudges are settled. Things can get pretty crazy. Especially two years ago. Everyone’s hoping that things won’t be as bad a second time, but last year passed without that hope being put to the test. Heh.”

There was a cynical sound to his snort.

“There are supposedly big betting pools about what exactly will happen this year.”

“I have no doubt there are,” Gaylen said.

“A fellow student of mankind!” Erdon exclaimed.

Gaylen thought about this revelation. Two years’ worth of unreleased tension. Angsting about upcoming catastrophe was bad enough, but when it wasn’t even certain whether it would actually happen… he’d often found that it made people doubly twitchy.

The Dwyyk set the cynical cheer aside and gave him and Kiris a serious look.

“Honestly though, if you’re going to start poking into these kinds of puddles, do be careful. The news, the analysts and the general chat all agree on one thing: The underworld is on edge. There’s the blackout… the possible blackout… but also a new High Justice going after the gangs. Pressure is coming in from different directions, so be careful.”

“We will. When is the maintenance period set to start?”

“The moment of truth is about ten hours away,” Erdon said.

Gaylen patted the desk between them.

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

The two of them walked away. Herdis and Bers joined them, the latter casting a longing look at a small crew throwing back shots.

“Well, I am amazed,” Herdis said with mild sarcasm as they stepped back outside.

“Yes, wasn’t it all you dreamed of?” Gaylen replied. “You can tell your children the story next time you go home.”

He took another look at the view. Again, the pirates had a thousand different angles and venues to track them.

“Seriously though, what do we do next?” Herdis asked.

Gaylen took out his comm and called Jaquan.

“Anything new?” he asked.

“Nothing special,” the engineer replied. “Still working. The fort is holding, although some folks have been loitering outside, taking a look at it.”

“Got anything for me?”

Jaquan sent him images captured by the still-hovering drone. Gaylen took in the people in question. They hadn’t been in the group Chief Horruk had brought with him to that square, but a ship like his was sure to have more than six people on board. He made sure everyone else got a look, then continued the conversation.

“Keep the drone right there,” Gaylen said. They’d agreed to it as a code for ‘Send it my way’, in case of anyone listening in. “We will be continuing on. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

“So, again, what do we do?” Herdis asked.

“I’m afraid we’ll be heading deeper into danger,” Gaylen said. “And our timeline for all this… it just got more interesting.”