The interstellar hub at Raisa was one of the largest stations in human space, second only to Jupiter, as far as Jack knew. The hundreds of thousands of inhabitants that crowded its streets and compartments certainly made it feel that way. Weaving his way through throngs of travelers at the public transit stops, Jack swore with frustration. He was not used to dealing with crowds, and the constant flow of bodies set his nerves even more on edge. He had only one more stop to make before he rejoined the Junker—the freighter they had chosen to pull off the heist—but the ambient light was already warming and dimming.

Urban sprawl climbed up the horizon, and across the sky in a dizzying display. Only miles above Jack’s head, the opposite side of the station’s rotating body was clearly visible, hanging upside down. It was a nausea inducing illusion for those unused to space travel. Running through the center of the tube was a gigantic chandelier; a complex construction of mirrors that bounced solar light from the exterior, providing the citizens with the feeling of natural daytime.

As the artificial day approached its end, those mirrors tinted to simulate the familiar comfort of a setting sun. Jack wondered how much time and effort had been sacrificed to create the ironic monument of human ingenuity, flaunting before the majesty of the universe a hairless ape’s most base dependencies in a place they had no right—or sense—to be.

Seeking a discreet purchase, he eventually arrived in the depths of the undercity, buried within the mile thick walls of the superstructure. A local contact had brought what he requested – an unregistered firearm for his personal use.

As they made the exchange at an unremarkable diner, Jack was not surprised to see Riley loitering in the crowd across the concourse, not even trying to be subtle. It was a necessary violation of his privacy, Jack knew, for the family would never truly trust him again.

Of course, he thought darkly, if everything went well on Xīn lù, then their trust wasn’t something he would need to worry about.

The firearm purchase would not concern them; expected and necessary as it was. He obviously wouldn’t trust any device they handed him, and they wouldn’t object to him making his own arrangements. It was all understood—a part of the game as timeless as civilization.

They had made contact with the ‘insider’—a scrambled voice on the other end of a data stream. It contained just enough meta-clues for Fenway’s technicians to trace the connection to a major VennZech campus on Xīn lù. Jack wondered how Urtiga had pulled that off, and indeed what else access to sophisticated alien technology made her and her friends capable of.

Riley had interrogated the voice for more than an hour, pushing ‘him’ for information that would confirm he was who he said he was, and that he was capable of doing what he claimed. The conversation had gone well, and acceptable assurances of good faith had been provided. The job was on. Jack’s only concern was what exactly would happen to them all once the device was in their possession.

His contact left him, and Jack was patiently sipping his drink when a familiar voice made him freeze in horror.

Three women had entered the bar, and though he didn’t look around, he knew immediately that it was Urtiga, Gucci, and a third individual. They sat at a stall near his, though they didn’t look at or acknowledge him in the slightest. He listened with surprise as he realized they were arguing about something, and he turned as much as he dared to watch them out of the corner of his eye.

“Literally all I did, you know, as per my duties and obligations—” Urtiga said defensively.

“Shut up. Just stop talking,” Gucci snapped at her.

“—was provide my honest and detailed account of the events that unfolded on the ground. And words that were exchanged.”

“And it was a great report; very detailed,” the third woman said as she nodded happily. “Um, so Gucci, explain… are there, like, special exercises that you have to do?”

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“Go to hell,” Gucci said.

“Definitely some kind of breathing technique,” Urtiga added.

“You are actually children—all of you.”

“Probably a daily training regime, and you certainly wouldn’t want to skip a session. What if you got an injury?” Urtiga laughed with the heartiest, most joyful laugh Jack had heard from the woman.

Gucci sank her head into her hands. “Oh God, what did I do to deserve this?” she moaned.

“Fate, destiny, fortune.” The third woman shrugged. “Who can say what forces shape the world around us? Now—I’m just going to send a message making sure everyone knows that Gucci’s new nickname will be ‘Fist’.”

Urtiga roared with laughter again as Gucci flushed bright red.

Jack stood up as the teasing continued and calmly walked out of the diner. He had been exchanging messages with Urtiga, and she seemed happy with the plan the cartel leaders had put together. She was also confident she could provide the additional resources they had requested from the insider. As Jack retraced his steps to the ship—Riley maintaining a respectable distance behind him—he wondered what message he should take from the encounter. Reassurance, perhaps? Or a reminder, to make sure he didn’t get cold feet.

When he returned to the docking bay of the Junker, he was surprised to see a crowd of customs agents crowding around Theodore and a few others. They were talking heatedly, and every so often, Jack saw discreet handshakes pass between them. In the distance, where the ship was resting against the docking clamps, he saw a crewman hurriedly leave the ship, slinking away into the maintenance shafts.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded as he approached his brother.

“No, it’s okay, Jack.” Theodore waved him off. “Get back onboard and I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

As Jack stepped onto the gantry, he saw the customs officers begin to disperse, apparently satisfied with the results of their discussion.

“Well,” Theodore said when he joined Jack in the ship’s lounge. “That was a close call.”

“Looked like they wanted to search the ship,” Jack observed.

“They did—apparently they received a tip off about contraband.”

“The weapons? I thought only your most loyal guys were involved.”

“Well, we don’t know what happened to be honest. Fortunately, I was able to convince them it wasn’t worth their trouble.”

“Worth more to look away?”

Theodore grimaced. “Cost me a packet. I hope this job pays off.”

Jack nodded but said nothing. Soon they heard the clamor of arguing men, and a stampede of footsteps. Riley stuck his head into the lounge, a severe frown on his face.

“We got him boss—one of ours. This is going to be trouble.”

Theodore gave him a look of surprise. “Who?”

“Staffer.”

The news didn’t surprise Jack. If he had seen the crewmen jumping ship, then so had Riley, and he would have figured it out quickly enough. They were led through the bowls of the vessel to an empty cargo hold where the technician Jack had seen earlier was seated on a stool, his face bloody and bruised. The hold was filled with men, but Jack noticed that not all of them wore the cold and furious expression of those that flanked the unfortunate Staffer. Some even looked scared.

“Eight years,” Theodore said quietly, after he had observed the scene. “Eight years you’ve worked for this family, Staffer, and done well. Always had your head screwed on, always dependable. Then you go and do this.”

His brother wouldn’t strike the man, Jack recalled. His temper was far too calculated, flaring only in those moments when he would need it to have the necessary effect.

“Just tell me why,” Theodore continued. “A cheap pay off and a slap on the back from a Helvet pencil pusher? Or did they have something on you?”

Staffer spat on the floor. “It’s wrong.”

The tension in the room shifted. Jack saw men staring at their feet or exchanging worried glances.

Theodore laughed. “Oh yeah—all this time a cartel man and suddenly you grow a conscience.”

“There are some lines,” the prisoner growled. “That men should burn in hell for crossing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Theodore said. He lunged forward and punched the man hard in the face. “I don’t know,” he screamed as he punched again and again, “what you’re talking about!”

Jack stepped back, shocked by the behavior. His brother grabbed a length of pipe from one of the men and used it to smash Staffer’s head until blood pooled thickly on the deck. The others watched in appalled silence, as though the air had left the room.

“What’s he talking about?” Theodore leapt back, wiping blood off his face. Now he was pacing back and forth, confronting each of the spectators. “Do you know? Someone tell me. Anyone? Anyone?”

Nobody moved or spoke. The moment was a photograph, with only Theodore in motion.

“Get this piece of shit stuffed into an airlock. We’ll dump his body into space.” He left the hold, and still nobody moved a muscle.

Jack felt his hands shaking. In all the years he had known Theodore, he had never lost control so completely, and so publicly. Something was very wrong.

He met Riley’s gaze. In contrast to the stunned men around them, the man seemed almost whimsical.

“Let’s get moving, fellas,” Riley said, pushing his neighbors to stir them to life. “We’ve got a lot to do before we get underway.”