The small crew of the Passive Swindler spent the next hour getting themselves situated. They dragged several of the large couches to the central bar area, where a large projection view screen was installed, into a circle to be closer to each other. The view-screen was one of several used to watch and bet on sports or to keep up with some of the more complex games of chance. They filled the center of their ring with a few tables and lamps. Riordan produced blankets, pillows, and military-issue sleep sacks from a cargo container and passed them around. He also placed several portable lanterns on a table near the entrance in case someone needed to venture out into the ship.

Her father was behind the bar, messing with a bank of flat-screens and computing modules cobbled together. He kept leaving to find something bringing back another component. Glori was reclining on a couch, snuggled in with a standard-issue gray military blanket, reading news reports on her holocon that were downloaded before the Swindler went coms silent and fled inhabited space. She had a steamy mug of kaffe on the table next to her, seemingly forgotten.

Sarah occupied herself by exploring the huge casino floor. Many of the gaming machines had been removed, but plenty were left behind. Green felt-lined gaming tables dotted the open areas of the floor in a seemingly random pattern. Finding a shipping container of tarnished brass one credit tokens, she plugged one of the intact gaming machines back into the floor and dumped a handful of tokens into the slot. It took a few turns for her to get the basics of the game down. A few minutes later, the tokens she deposited were exhausted without a single token returned in winnings. She marveled that at one time, people were so gullible that they would keep feeding their hard-earned credits into games that rarely paid out. She preferred more honest games such as cards or dice and often played both against other youths when she could. They would often play for food or some bauble. She was careful not to win too often when someone else needed a bit of food more than she did. Credits were too precious to gamble.

“Hey,” Sarah said jovially.

Riordan startled, pistol half drawn from its holster as he turned to face her. “Shize, don’t sneak up on me like that! What’s up?”

“Sorry," she responded, stifling a chuckle. "Where are the showers?" She held up her towel and toiletries bag.

“Oh, go out the main doors, take a left, and look for the door on the right marked ‘Shower’. It's the only functional shower room left. Take a lantern,” He turned back to his console.

She thanked him and grabbed a lantern on her way out. Its strong cold glow lit her way. Just when she was about to turn back, she spotted the door. The official placard read ‘Authorized Personnel Only’. ‘Shower’ was scrawled below it in grease pencil. She pressed the control stud and the hatch ground open revealing a locker room with shower stalls at the far end. There were benches between the rows of lockers. ‘Locker rooms have stayed the same for centuries,’ she mused in her head. None of the overhead light panels seemed to function. She silently thanked her father for recommending the lantern.

She draped her towel over the end of a bench and stripped off her clothes. She stuffed her old clothes in a nearby locker and retrieved her towel, carefully folding it over her pistol belt, just in case. Grabbing her body wash, she stepped into the stall. The controls were standard if not archaic, and the water pressure was better than she expected. Soon she was standing in a maelstrom of hot water and billowing steam. She let the water pour over her. The heat was welcome. The ambient temperature on the Odyssey was chilly by any standard. She lingered long after washing herself clean, letting the multiple shower heads beat the tension and stress from her body.

She exited the shower and toweled the water from her body. She paused to scan around her, her caution learned from the pain of others. The seedier parts of the stations they lived on offered little security for their most vulnerable populations. Girls would usually use communal showers in groups to increase safety.

She dressed in her usual underclothes, pulling on a black shirt. She tugged on a pair of standard black fabric cargo pants, securing the Velcro at the waistline. She always ordered her pants a bit large; it was her look. She secured the fasteners on her shiny black boots and fastened her pistol belt across her hips. Shrugging on her jacket, she made sure her com was still fastened to her left sleeve. Grabbing the lantern and slinging her toiletries bag over her shoulder, she headed out.

Instead of immediately heading back to their camp on the casino floor, Sarah decided to explore a little. She continued down the corridor away from the camp and showers. She came to another pile of shipping crates and rummaged through them. Nothing but basic medical supplies. The next group of crates held obsolete but still usable computer cores and memory modules, most still brand new in their packaging. Why was this stuff still here? She wondered. Her father could easily score a few thousand credits for them at any black market bazaar.

She removed a scanner from her bag. The parts registered as original, not replicated. Replicated items had a signature; the molecules were identical from part to part. It was easy to tell. The recent introduction of Materiel Printer technology had been cropping up in the black markets, wreaking havoc on micro-economies. She checked the dates on the shipping labels. Same date range as the containers of military-grade gear in the casino. She was sensing an emerging pattern, but what was it? She continued her inspections as she continued down the corridor. Nothing was newer than five years ago, nothing older than about eight or nine years. She knew Riordan had been into some small-time low-level stuff, but this was extensive. Someone was stashing illegal goods on the Odyssey for four or five years and then left. Why?

As she explored deeper, she produced her flashlight from a pocket and cast it around when the illumination got spotty. She noticed some gray cargo containers stacked in neat rows farther down the corridor. They looked newer and slightly different from the other containers scattered around the Odyssey. She approached closer, studying the markings, some sort of military unit or something. ‘301st MI BN’. She found the inventory labels, and they were all dated from about five years ago, give or take a month or so.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

She opened the two clasps on the first container to reveal seventy-two neatly packed purple bags, Ready To Eat Meals, RTEMs, no surprise there. Curious, she unclasped the next case. It was packed with book-sized blank cardboard boxes. She pulled one from its slot and opened the end. It was heavy. She pulled on the plastic bag, and an object slid out into her hand. She stared in shock for a second. It was a brand new blast pistol, Mk V Federal Armory, 10 watts, 100 shots per charge pack. ‘Holy Shize,’ she thought! Those are worth major credits and even larger prison sentences. Each one would fetch more than she would need to live for a year if she kept her expenditures modest. There were three dozen in this case alone.

Her pulse quickened. She opened case after case. Charge packs for the pistols, less than lethal sonic grenades, blast grenades, breaching charges, blank ID chits, ID encoders, QuickTek; a pharmaceutical-grade stimulant packaged into auto-injectors to reduce fear and increase performance during a battle, complete sets of soft body armor, helmets with built-in scanners. A veritable gold mine of illegal military goods, she was rich! It was the last few cases that held the best yet. Complete sets of EVA capable Shok Armor, glistening black from boots to faceplate.

Her stomach shrank with fear despite knowing no one occupied the suit. It was fearsome in its appearance, and she had seen too many holo-vids where units of Shokmarines easily overwhelmed resistance fighters. They always seemed more like dispassionate automatons than people. "Go Tsao de hell!"

Her com chirped, startling her. "Yeah," she acknowledged, bringing the com closer to her face.

"Sarah, if you’re done showering, your father has grilled up some steak and shrimp from the cargo he now owns. These bad boys are huge. Hurry before I eat 'em all," Glori offered, her voice tinny.

"Alright, sounds good. I'm heading back now." She took one last look around before filing the problem away for later review.

They sat in a circle on their respective couches, feasting on premium steak and shrimp. Sarah was in heaven; real beef tasted so much better than lab-grown. The texture was different in every bite, and the way her father cooked it was amazing.

“Outstanding,” Glori exclaimed.

“I know, right? I’ve never had steak this good,” Sarah declared around a mouthful of meat. “I could never afford it.”

Riordan finished chewing. “The secret is in the prep. The cut should be room temperature so it doesn’t toughen on the grill, and the seasoning should be applied beforehand, so its flavor cooks into the meat.”

Knives and forks clinked on plates as the party enjoyed their dinner.

“How did you find the Odyssey, anyway?” Sarah asked innocently.

“Oh, it's complicated. This was a ship scrapyard,” he replied, gesturing to the entire area. “A salvage company used to own it but went under. I found some records when I was searching for parts for the Swindler, and I eventually found it. The company was supposed to make sure the ships were properly disposed of, but they didn't. Over the years, it became a popular dumping ground. The feds don't care since it's outside their jurisdiction and doesn't present a navigation hazard."

“So, you don’t own the Odyssey?”

“Nobody owns it, not legally, but then, laws don’t apply out here. I just use her sometimes. It's been a few years since I’ve been back, but we did all this. We got life support working, and got some power.”

“You use her to stash stolen merchandise until you can move it?”

Riordan shot Glori a concerned glance. "I'm not going to pretend to be a saint. I've been mostly legit for the past five years, but yes, we used to use the Odyssey to store merchandise. There is a lot of it still here. That's one of the reasons I brought us here, to stock up. My criminal days are behind me, were behind me," he finished with a wry smile.

“So, you were a... pirate?”

Riordan choked on his drink, setting the glass on the low coffee table in front of him with a thunk.

“Sarah..." Glori said under her breath.

“You think I'm a pirate?" Riordan asked in a low voice. "Pirates hunt down and attack other ships. They murder or sell the crews into slavery in the unaffiliated systems. They steal the cargo and strip the ships down to their keels. Sometimes they even sell the prettier girls to the whorehouses and brothels, the pretty little boys, too. Do you think I'm capable of something like that?"

“Well, I thought…,” she stammered.

"Slavery? Forced prostitution? Organ harvesting? Murder?” He continued tensely.

Sarah dropped her gaze. Glori’s eyes alternated between the two, food forgotten. Riordan leaned forward.

“I know you think I let you down. I should have been there for you, but I wasn’t. That doesn’t make me a pirate, just a bad father,” Riordan stood, drink in one hand, tray in the other. His countenance softened. “Get some sleep, it's been a long week. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

The ladies nodded in assent. Glori watched him drop his tray into the bar sink and continue fiddling with the consoles. Sarah poked at her cooling steak.

“I didn’t mean… There’s just so much stuff here...”

Glori placed her tray on the small table next to her. “I knew Jaisen had a past, something illegal, but he put it behind him. He was, is, a good man. People are strange like that. Jaisen admitted he was a thief, a good one, probably the best. People make bad choices, follow the wrong path, but most, if given time and opportunity, can make things right. Give your father that chance.”

“How do I do that? We just met."

“What does your heart say about Atticus Riordan?”

“It says that he put himself in harm's way to save me and a bunch of other people he didn’t even know. It says that he's scared and brought us here because he's working an angle. He's getting something out of it."

“I feel the same way!”

“You do? So, what’s his angle?”

“Now? You,” Glori smiled, turning her attention back to her steak.