On the best of days the market at Chatham Station is crowded, loud, and foul-smelling. The week leading up to Foundation Day was not the best. Not even third best. Two weeks of intermittent rain had turned most of them into a barely navigable slurry, not the least bit improved by the greater-than-usual traffic of men and ships. A small and rugged outpost at the edge of civilized space, shipments of tax money for repairs and infrastructure were few and far between. What little money did come in was almost entirely through docking fees and money spent by traders, travelers, and less savory characters who found Chatham to be a convenient stop for one reason or another.

The station could barely even be called that. The port itself was an irregular cluster of open air landing bays that could hold maybe two dozen ships on its best day. More often than not the majority of them sat empty, accumulating rust and little else. The buildings surrounding the port fared little better. Once, they had been orderly concrete-and-steel blocks. A thriving outpost that anybody could be proud to call home. Now, the majority of buildings were covered in lichen and vines; many of them in desperate need of repair, if they were habitable at all. Ramshackle stalls were built right in the street. Made of canvas, wire, and all manner of scrap that was sturdy enough to hold up to the wind and the rain, they were hardly the pinnacle of human engineering. Today, however, the streets were humming with activity. Ships were landing and taking off again at regular intervals and the stalls were packed with sellers hawking every kind of ware imaginable and buyers with money weighing down their pockets. Spacers from nearby worlds and mining operations mixed with local farmers and city dwellers to create a deafening cacophony.

Rhys Redfield stepped lightly along the muddy streets surrounding the space port, being as careful as he was able to watch his step. The mud was certainly part of it, but out on the frontier manners truly mattered. He had seen far too many simple misunderstandings end with weapons drawn and at least one person dead, a gently glowing laser wound burned into someone or another's chest. The last thing he needed was to be waylaid by some loud mouthed fool or another, looking to make a name for himself as the next great gunfighter. He focused instead on the weight of the artifact in his jacket pocket. It had been a lucky break that he had come across it at all, and luckier still that it had been in the hands of a man willing to part with it so cheaply.

He slid a hand into the pocket for what felt like the hundredth time and felt for it; his fingers finding the smooth, cold surface. The cube was small, able to fit comfortably in his hand and scarcely heavier than a piece of fruit and yet it would certainly be worth a small fortune. Rhys didn’t know what it was or what purpose it might serve, but what he did know is that Precursor relics in even fair condition could keep his ship flying and his belly full for a month.

His fingers tightened around the cube in his pocket. This relic was far better than fair condition. Although it had no visible openings or marks of any kind, a quick scan aboard his ship showed that it even had power. After all these centuries! The true significance of this was completely lost on Rhys, his mind only on how much money he could make from it.

The reverie was broken as he turned down the main strip to find it blocked by throngs of people, several of whom looked far more heavily armed than usual. Craning his neck to look for signs of trouble, he spotted the evidence of it immediately. A building a short distance away had collapsed, which was not in and of itself terribly unusual, but this one was smoldering. Rhys looked more carefully at his surroundings and noticed fresh pock marks along several store fronts that could only have come from laser weapons.

It looked as though a group of raiders had recently been through. They had been emboldened in this system lately. More likely than not they would have taken anything and anyone they could carry and blasted off from the space port before any sort of defense could be mounted. Nobody looked at him as he walked past the ruin, and he felt a pang of guilt for considering himself lucky. Firstly, he had missed the raid entirely. Secondly, although the townspeople were on a far higher alert, it would be for signs of other raiding parties rather than a single man with contraband to sell. Rhys wondered for a moment how many people had been killed or captured. Had the raiders been driven off, or had they gotten everything they came for?

Shaking his head, he moved on. His regular buyer, Soren, was not a patient man and would use any excuse he could to short Rhys on his finders fee. He was just considering whether or not to stop for some coffee to sharpen himself up a bit when he heard shouting and the distinct tones of men in a heated argument.

The cantina he was supposed to meet Soren in was only at the end of the block but, feeling he had a little time, he let his curiosity get the better of him and followed the sounds to the entrance of a side alley. He crossed the street and leaned around the corner of a brick building to see if he could get a good view of the commotion. This must have been a common enough occurrence, because nobody besides him seemed the least bit interested in whatever was going on.

Gazing down the alley past the heaps of garbage and clouds of steam, he spotted what looked like a soldier arguing with a small group of mercenaries. They could hardly look more unalike. The soldier, whoever he was, had a clean uniform on and immaculately cared for armor, apart from some mud and scratched paint, that covered the better part of his chest and upper arms. The mercenaries on the other hand hadn’t bothered to wear anything that could be even remotely close to clean or well cared for. Mismatched armor, long coats in various states of repair, the only thing they seemed to have in common was a nearly identical sneer on their faces and body language that screamed that they were ready for violence. Rhys craned his neck to try and hear what was being said.

“...already told you I can’t pay that.” Said the soldier, his voice stern. “But this will have to do. This is a matter of planetary security.”

“Imagine what that means to me.” Drawled the largest mercenary, clearly the leader. “Either you can pay or you can’t, and if you can’t then we’ll take what you do have for wasting our time.”

“This money is the property of the empire. I won’t let you just take it.”

“Did you hear that, boys?” The big man laughed. “The empire! You’re a long way from home if you think that means anything out here, trooper.”

His men all laughed without mirth. The soldier, whoever he was, slid one foot back in a clear signal that he was going to leave. Rhys didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he wasn’t about to let this man get killed in an alley over a pocket full of money. Cursing under his breath, he drew his pistol from its holster at his hip.

This had better be worth it, he thought to himself.

The mercenaries said something he couldn’t hear, and suddenly there was a flurry of movement. They were on the soldier in an instant, trying to pin his arms behind his back as he struggled mightily. Rhys took careful aim at one of the men and squeezed the trigger. A searing beam of red light passed inches from the man’s face. He jumped back with a startled cry. Rhys fired twice more, missing the mercenaries by inches each time. They shouted and crashed into each other in their confusion and began running. Rhys fired one more time for good measure, hoping to drive them off for good. Their leader, apparently the bravest of them, had been the only one not to turn on his heels and run. As he lifted his head to shout after his men, Rhys happened to make his last shot. The beam hit the man square in the face, disintegrating a fist sized chunk of flesh and bone and exploding most of the rest of his head outward in a shower that covered much of the surrounding walls. His twitching body collapsed immediately and after a few moments, it lay still.

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“Fucking oops.” Rhys said under his breath. “Hey! Are you alright?”

In the commotion, the soldier had fallen against one of the alley walls. At some point someone must have hit him in the face, as he was bleeding heavily from his nose.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” The soldier gazed around, seeing the body on the ground he paused for a moment. “Nice shot.”

“I tried to miss him.” Rhys said, holstering his weapon and stepping fully into the alley. “They weren’t friends of yours, right?”

“Not really.” The man shot back.

Rhys strode over to the soldier and extended a hand to pull him to his feet. “Rhys Redfield”

“Silas Fier. What were you doing here, exactly?”

“You first.”

The soldier pursed his lips and wiped the blood from his upper lip with the sleeve of his uniform.

“Very well. I suppose you deserve an explanation. We were raided a few days ago, and most of my men were killed. We aren’t part of the regular military here, we’re on a mission to assess the threat to this system from pirates and other criminals. I’m afraid it’s worse than we thought. I recovered this from one of the bodies they left behind.” He held up a data chip that had clearly been through hell. “This latest group was led by a man called Wallace who was under orders to come here. I don’t know what they wanted, the chip is too badly damaged to get anything else useful from it, but they were organized and are clearly working with a purpose. If someone united the gangs in this system it would be extremely dangerous and could jeopardize the stability of the entire sector. I can’t let that happen and so I’ve been looking for a way off-world ever since. Do you know anyone who can help me?”

Rhys considered what he had been told for a moment. “You know, I think we might be able to help each other.”

Rhys and Silas disposed of the corpse in a dumpster as respectfully as they could, then walked briskly toward the cantina. Silas had spent several minutes pulling on the dead man’s boots, trousers, and brown leather coat since he couldn’t show up to a clandestine and legally dubious meeting dressed in an imperial uniform. Now certainly looked like a planet hopping renegade. Rhys noticed that people cleared out of their way far more quickly than when he was alone and made a mental note to keep the large man with him whenever he needed to get somewhere in a hurry. He studied Silas for a moment, trying to get a better measure of him. His build was muscular and imposing which, combined with his neatly trimmed hair and short beard, lent to a commanding and authoritative presence. Rhys guessed him to be about 30.

“So what’s the plan?” Silas asked, derailing Rhys’s train of thought.

“We sell an artifact, take the money, and break atmosphere as soon as physically possible. Do you even know where you’re going with that thing? Also, why don’t you just send this up the chain of command?”

“It’s actually a bit more complicated than-”

Rhys held up a hand to quiet him. They had reached the front doors of the cantina, and he took several deep breaths through his nose. Being at the threshold itself, Rhys’s heartbeat was beginning to quicken.

“Okay,” Rhys began, “so Soren is a slimy bastard and he’s going to try to lowball us. I just need you to stand there and look mean. Think you can handle that?”

The corner of Silas’s mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile.

“It’s ‘us’ already, is it?”

“Shut up.”

They pushed their way through the front doors and made their way to the private booths in the back. The cantina was such a shit hole that it technically didn’t even have a name. Dim, and in some cases flickering, neon lights cast their glow over concrete walls and floors that were stained and cracked. The room was ringed with dark, synthetic leather booths with high backs that offered a small degree of privacy to those within. Rhys found the one furthest from the door and slid into it, across from a waiting man who looked as ugly and irritable as ever. Silas found a seat on one of the mismatched stools at the bar where he could clearly see and be seen by Rhys and Soren.

“You’re late.” Soren said, downing what appeared to be the latest of several whiskeys. Soren was a beefy man whose eyes were red rimmed and watery, his teeth yellowed and stained, and his engineering overalls in such a filthy state that Rhys wondered to himself for a moment if they had ever been washed at all.

“No I’m not.” Rhys said cheerfully, aware that he was at least several minutes late. Soren grunted noncommittally, eyeing Silas with a wary look on his face.

“Let’s make this quick. What have you got?”

Rhys pulled the cube from his pocket and set it firmly on the table.

“Latest find from Aridax. Precursor tech. Still works, if you can believe it.”

Soren leaned in close to examine the cube. Rhys did his best to ignore the stench coming off the man's breath, and made a mental note to tell him at a later date that he should really start breathing with his mouth closed.

“Still works, eh? How do you know?”

Just then, the lights of the cantina flickered then flared brightly for a moment before returning to normal. For a moment nobody said anything.

“I’m sure that's…fine.” Said Rhys. “Anyway, I checked it for power and it still has some.” Soren moved to pick the cube up and Rhys slapped his hand away. “For a museum quality piece like this, I’m thinking two thousand Solars.”

“Museum quality? Listen son, I admire your dedication to bringing me mildly interesting trinkets like this, but let's not oversell it here. You’ll take eight hundred sols and be happy with it. I’m sorry you decided to hire an extra hand.” He shot a hard glance at Silas, who was glaring back in turn. “But that’s not my problem. You’re a bright kid. If you want my advice, take that ship of yours and sell it. Find a nice place to settle down and maybe try to make something of yourself. I’d be happy to take the old girl off your hands, and for a fair price you wont get hardly anywhere else.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the cube suddenly began emitting green light. Beneath the shiny black surface, Rhys could see the light swirl and change in a mesmerizing pattern. He looked up to see Soren’s face with nothing on it but sheer, naked greed.

“Two thousand.” Soren said softly. “Done. Now let me see here.” He craned his neck, looking for the bar man, who normally handed him the money for the deals from a safe that was kept somewhere in the back.

Soren was beside himself with anger. So much so that the edges of his vision began to fade to black. The fat, greedy, pig of a man would only change his price if he knew he could sell it for much higher. Not only that, but the mere thought of selling his ship to a man like that made Rhys furious. How dare that sack of filth even suggest it? The audacity!

Rhys’s mind was torn from his growing hatred by the piercing sound of the local emergency siren. All the heads in the cantina were turned toward the door, some patrons rising from their seats to see what the trouble was. It was apparently very serious, as the streets outside became quite loud with the sound of people running and shouting. Sensing it might be best to finish their business at another time, Rhys snatched the cube from the table and shoved it back in his pocket.

Right where it belongs, Rhys caught himself thinking.

Silas was on his feet and across the room in the next instant. His shoulder pressed to the door frame and his eyes peering up the street. Rhys could see him turn his gaze upward toward the sky.

“We are in huge trouble.” He said in a strained voice.