Gravel had his fair share of regrets, but giving the bigger quarter to Hunter was never one of them. His own space was little more than a reinforced metal box bolted to the ship’s frame, with a narrow cot crammed into the corner, and he knew that esconcing herself into this tiny corner would be Hunter’s worst nightmare. Above his head was an actual paper poster of Arko Draeaz—one of the greatest shockball players of the 26th century—that had yellowed slightly with age. Holo versions were always easily duplicatable, no matter how the distributors tried to inflate their value with unique tracking numbers, token IDs, or any other technobabble sounding name they could attach to them, but paper posters were rare and exclusive. He never cared much for collector’s items, but Hunter had poked fun at him about how empty his walls looked, so he’d stuck it there just to prove a point.

  Across from it, a dented storage locker sat against the opposite wall, covered in old mission stickers and half-ripped barcodes from deliveries long completed. Between it and the weapons rack hung the album cover of Ticatic, an alien synthwave band that sounded like the kind of song one’d play as they were launched off-ship in an escape pod. The cover was an abstract mess of neon blues and looping spirals, but it was free—a gift from his long-time spare part supplier Zizi. Last he heard, she still asked about him from time to time. They were never on bad terms.

  He stared at the holo-interface for another five seconds before swiping to the Contact tab. The name Elsa – Rocksand Glider Dock showed up.

  He drummed his fingers against the armrest before finally typing out a message.

  GRAVEL: Hey. You still working the glider docks? Need to ask you something. When’s your shift?

  It was a good fifteen minutes before he got a reply.

  ELSA: Oh? And here I thought you were just another merc who’d never text back. Didn’t even make me wait a full day. I’m flattered. :p

  Gravel sighed at the use of the childish but timeless emoticon that only Earthlings use, rubbing his temple before typing again.

  GRAVEL: Gotta admit, wasn’t expecting that response. Just need to know when you’re around so I can call.

  ELSA: You are such a dry texter. Why don’t you text the way you talk?

  ELSA: But fine. I’m on shift later today, 1400 to 2200. Why? You angling for some VIP treatment if you crash your next glider or sumthin’?

  GRAVEL: Never asked for a VIP treatment in my life, mind ya. If I crash another glider, just let me die.

  GRAVEL: You free to talk around 1500?

  ELSA: Ooooh, making it a scheduled thing? Careful, Gravel, I might start thinking this is a real date. I’ll be free, though. If you’re nice to me, I might even answer.

  Gravel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t sure if this was going to be a productive conversation, but at the very least, Elsa didn’t seem to hate talking to him. It wasn’t every day someone spared him some time when he inquired about it just hours earlier. That was something.

  GRAVEL: Appreciate it. I’ll call then.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  ELSA: Looking forward to it.

  Gravel set his communicator down, leaning back in his chair. He’d barely had a second to collect his thoughts when the ship’s comm flared to life.

  “Gravel! My favorite degenerate. How do you feel about a little game of Zarqball? Continental semis. Live seats. Say no, and I’ll assume you’ve been replaced by an AI clone.” Xaxx’s voice punched through the line.

  Gravel narrowed his eyes. Zarqball? The game was only possible on Bor’tho because of its low gravity—half sport, half controlled chaos. Players bounced off the walls of a zero-G arena, launching themselves at high speeds to score mid-air goals. It had a reputation for causing concussions, and Gravel had always wanted to see it live.

  “Depends,” Gravel said, already intrigued. “Who’s going?”

  “Your favorite people. Me and Nastija. She asked you to come.” Xaxx sounded amused. “You in or what?”

  His gaze flicked to his communicator. 1400. Check in with the team. 1500. Call Elsa. His schedule wasn’t exactly open.

  But it was a live game of ball.

  He exhaled. “Yeah, sure. We need to talk about something anyway.”

  ***

  The Zarqball stadium’s design made sense only in the context of Bor’tho’s low gravity—a twisting, multi-tiered arena where floating spectator pods were suspended along curved magnetic rails, shifting as per audience’s convenience. The local Bor’thans, with their elongated frames and gliding membranes, stood out among the off-worlders as they lined in a queue in front of the entrance.

  Gravel spotted Xaxx first, because Xaxx was impossible not to spot.

  Dressed in deep blue robes layered over an armored bodysuit that put Gravel’s jacket to shame, Xaxx looked like someone who couldn’t decide between being a merchant, a warlord, or a scam artist. Then there was Nastija leaning against a grav-rail, staring at nothing in particular. Her white jacket, military-cut but casual, was crisp despite the humid air, and her short, asymmetrical hair was even whiter than her jacket, the longer strands barely brushing her cheek. Gravel could have sworn she was a blondie the last time they met.

  Gravel walked up, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t take you two for sports fans.”

  Xaxx grinned, spreading his arms like he’d just spotted a long-lost friend. “And I didn’t take you for the punctual type, yet here we are. Life is full of surprises. Besides, the energy here is palpable.” He gestured at the locals with his elbow. “You ever see a Bor’than play this game? It’s like watching someone cheat physics.”

  Nastija shifted her weight slightly against the rail like it was her way of acknowledging his arrival.

  Gravel smirked. “Yeah, but I doubt that’s why you’re here.”

  Xaxx’s grin didn’t waver. “Can’t a man enjoy some downtime?”

  Gravel chuckled. “Sure. And I’m here because I’ve always been deeply passionate about Bor’than architecture.” He let the words sit for a second before adding, “You two need something from me?”

  Nastija finally turned her head, just enough to look at Gravel as Xaxx clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We need a man of culture to enjoy the game with, obviously. The other stuff—well, that’s a conversation for later, isn’t it?”

  “It’s mutually beneficial,” only now did Nastija join in the conversation.

  Gravel didn’t react, but he caught the meaning. Not here. Not in public. He eyed Nastija again—shorter hair, different color. Something had changed since the last time they met. But instead of asking, he just smirked and added, “New look?”

  Nastija didn’t bite. She just raised an eyebrow. “Do you care?” But it didn’t sound like she was annoyed. More likely she literally meant it when she asked that question.

  Gravel shrugged. “Just making sure I recognize you next time.”

  Xaxx chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. If she needs your attention, you’ll know.”

  Gravel didn’t doubt that for a second.