Jack stretched and lifted his feet onto the couch. For the next few days, he was a free man. He could drift in his thoughts and shut out the empty noise of the universe. Though his ship had access to the cluster-web, with its endless constellations of entertainment channels, news commentary and talking heads, he almost never used it. Occasionally, he might refer to the technical channels to help him fix an engine problem, but the rest of the drivel held no interest. It was all talk and stupidity.

The truth was that nothing mattered anymore. You either served a corporation or did your best to avoid them, and nobody cared if you lived or died. Out in the void, however, Jack found the silence soothing. He could lose himself in the endless harmony of the galactic ballet, and not a soul could disturb the passage of his ship.

A console pinged an alert, and Jack smiled. Apart from the Night Stalkers, obviously.

It was a message from his friend Ruben—no doubt sharing more rumors and speculation. Jack chose to ignore it until tomorrow, as he didn’t care to have his peace invaded by conspiracy theories.

A fellow smuggler, Ruben Archad, claimed to have seen and heard it all, usually from some drunk in a bar. He was always monitoring shipping reports and sending Jack his ‘read’ of ‘the situation’. The message would invariably fixate on a missing vessel—probably pegged to the wrong station by bureaucratic incompetence—which Ruben would assert had been ‘taken’.

They attacked ships in empty space, Ruben had tiresomely insisted after his fifth glass. An alien spaceship would appear out of nowhere, and a ship would go black, losing all power and control. Then ‘they’ would board, kill everyone, and take what was left.

“If they killed everybody,” Jack replied. “How does anyone know it happened?”

“Sometimes they leave one to tell the story. To spread fear.”

“And you met one of these survivors?”

“I met a guy, who knows a guy, who said he talked to one of them.”

“Right.”

Death from the darkness, Jack chuckled into his glass. More like piracy, or the cartels resolving unfinished business. Obviously, there was a great deal of violence ‘out there’, but while the unlucky or the unwise might run afoul of the cruel in the wrong patch of space, Jack would slip by unharassed.

Night Stalkers were the stuff of myth, but Allana Rayker’s displeasure would go viral on the news feeds. It would be talked about, in hushed tones, for months. He shuddered as he remembered where his life would have taken him without the protection of that same threat of violence. Back in the gilded cage with the other beast that wouldn’t let him go, even as it called him family.

When you got right down to it, everyone was evil.

Jack dropped his empty glass as he laid his head back, enjoying the warm glow that drowned out the emptiness. A moment like this was an upside to working with Rayker, when he could step outside reality and let it all fade away.

He woke up as the ship was on its final leg to Zaito station—his ultimate destination. After flicking through his messages—sending a terse ‘interesting as always’ to Ruben—he reviewed the engineering logs. Apart from the engines, the ship’s systems were purring happily. Then he stopped. An instrument panel was blinking a warning in the cargo hold. Checking the readout, Jack was surprised to see that a temperature sensor had detected an unusual increase in heat. Not dangerous or alarming, but certainly puzzling. Of course, he was carrying only one item.

When he popped open the access hatch, he saw the container strapped in where it should be. Nothing had changed on the outside at least, but when he ran his hand along the smooth metal, he felt warmth beneath his fingers. That was concerning, for it took a lot of energy to heat up a hundred cubic feet of steel shipping container.

Jack debated opening the container. Rayker had not explicitly forbidden him from doing so, but she rarely appreciated anyone prying too far into her business. If she found out, there would be a punishment.

On the other hand, the mystery of whatever had been dug out of the comet weighed on his mind. A burning curiosity consumed him—a desire to explore the darkness beyond humanity. So what if she got angry? It wasn’t like he had a habit of talking, and they both knew that few of the deliveries she ordered were ethical. Besides, he was an expert in falsifying seals—even Rayker wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Jack made up his mind.

First, he made a complete molecular scan of the existing seal, before he carefully broke it in a way that would be straightforward to repair. Then he opened the container, letting one of the metal walls drop to the deck of the hold. What he saw inside made him back away in shock.

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R3: I just got an alert—central tracking flagged a signal.

R2: Where?

R3: Heading into Zaito—that’s a major logistical hub in the East sector. Shit, this thing could be going anywhere in the cluster.

R1: What? It just popped up in the middle of empty space? How is that possible?

R3: It shouldn’t be—and nobody at central knows either.

R2: Could this be an attack or…?

R3: Let’s not jump to conclusions. Best we can say for now is that someone has figured out how to mask signatures for at least a short duration. Raven Four, let’s send someone to the location?

R4: Agreed. Better set up a logistics package too.

R1: Can I recommend Raven Two? That last operation sure was exciting.

R2: Oh sure, like you’ve never received bad intel before…

R4: Both of you will onsite. Raven One will approach, Raven Two will support. Acknowledge message.

R2: Acknowledged.

R1: Moving.

Jack shook his head, trying to dislodge the daydream he had stumbled into. Secured inside the container was a device—a cylindrical construction of metallic material. To the touch it was cold, and he realized that the container itself had been generating the heat—but why? A quick inspection revealed that its structure was a few inches thicker than usual.

That was the least interesting problem he had to face, for the device he was looking at was covered in the short, color-coded labels he was used to seeing on aerospace machines and vehicles. The problem was that they were not in any language or format that he recognized from the major manufacturers. They were not in a language, he realized as he inspected the bizarre shapes, that was used by any human entity in the cluster.

A device dug out from beneath the surface of an unexplored comet in an empty star system? Rayker had told him it was a crashed ship, but how could a wreck be buried beneath the ice unless it had been there—he searched his meager astrophysics knowledge—thousands of years? Before even the building of cities on Earth?

Jack tried to calm himself. It was obviously a secret project—military probably. They could have any reason to be crashing ships with strange devices aboard. Or maybe they had just made an underground lab that produced weird new technology in a script they didn’t want anybody to understand. They would want it in out in the middle of nowhere to keep away prying eyes. That had to be it, he reassured himself.

He closed the crate and reforged the seal, checking the work three times. The Helvetic League’s best custom’s officers wouldn’t know any different, and neither would Rayker. His paycheck for the job was already generous, he knew, and he would use it to take a long vacation somewhere far from civilization. Until she called him again.

Zaito was a class five station hosting nearly a million residents, and even more commuters from the planet Radian. It drifted comfortably in the world’s busy Lagrange One point, together with a dozen other smaller stations, providing a transportation hub throughout most of the sector.

Jack completed the handover of the container in one of the discreet industrial docking bays, nodding curtly to the grim faced VennZech security guards, and feeling the weight melt from his shoulders as he walked away.

Once he had checked into a hotel on the company credit card he downed a stiff drink, then wandered out towards the station hub, looking for an appropriate dive. The central spire was out of the question. As in most of the big stations, the League’s upper class would have installed themselves there, building the most luxurious bars and casinos for the super elite. The corporations furnished so much wealth for those lucky enough to be introduced—or born—into the right social networks that they quickly came to control any colony or station they occupied.

As he explored, Jack passed the concourse that led to the Tier One hub. A well-dressed businessman argued with a guard at the checkpoint. Apparently, his identity had been flagged by the system. No doubt he had committed a faux pas to one of his wealthy patrons without realizing it, and a phone call would have been made. Now, under the assumption he was still a member of the club, the unlucky man had tried to gain entry to the elite’s private district, only to find that his digital reputation had been downgraded. As he began to understand that the world he had built his life in was now locked away from him, he sat down on a bench and began to cry. Behind the checkpoint, verdant gardens bordered the concourse, and two gorgeous young models were having loud sex as pedestrians passed by.

It was all part of the scenery for Jack. He wouldn’t be admitted no matter what tricks he pulled—though he could probably manage to get into a Tier Three district if he called in some favors. His world was elsewhere, however; a short walk and a tram ride to the Tier Five zone, where his compatriots preferred to do business in the shadows. It was a comfortable place, for he would be known and left alone by the troublemakers.

Three hours later, the dim lights of the night cycle whirled around him as he stumbled back to his hotel. As he navigated the bridges and concourses of the sprawling station, he tried to recall if his room number had been 339, or 349. He rounded a corner and stopped, a cold sensation tickling his spine. The station corridors ahead of him were empty of people, except for a pair of men, standing in the shadows as they waited for something. They were dressed like Tier Fives, but they were confident and muscular, surveying the area with careful focus.

When they spotted him, they were immediately alert. One was bald, and a little shorter than his companion. He moved closer, holding up a cigarette as if to ask him for a light. Jack eyed the other man—more weasel faced, with a low effort fake smile—who held his arm stiffly in his pocket. The whole scene felt wrong. Adrenaline washed over him like a cold shower as years of smuggler instinct began to kick in. Sensing his suspicion, both men lunged forward.

Jack bolted, heading for the nearest staircase, running flat out without bothering to look back. When he reached the railing of the stairs, he vaulted over it, falling to the lower story and dropping into a roll. As he jumped back up into a sprint, his mind went blank, processing nothing beyond the next move, the next dodge, and he knew he wouldn’t stop running until—

“Hey, watch it!” someone called.

Jack tried to stop, but it was too late. He collided with the figure, and they fell to the ground in a tangle of bodies.