"I specifically requested a luxury transport vessel," said the man in the iridescent suit worth more than Jax's entire ship. Maximilian Plutus, CEO of GalactiCorp and owner of three small moons, stood in the loading bay of The Discount Otter, his nose wrinkled as if he'd detected something unpleasant—which, to be fair, he probably had. The ship's waste recycling system had been acting up for weeks. "This is perfect!" Max continued, his expression suddenly shifting to delight. "Absolutely perfect! So authentic! So... gritty! My followers are going to love this!" Before Jax could respond, the trillionaire had already activated his neural-cam and was narrating to his billions of social media followers: "Day one of my 'Common Man Space Adventure'—I've hired the most delightfully shabby pilot with a ship that looks like it might disintegrate at any moment! What an adrenaline rush!"

  Jax forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. After the space hamster fiasco—which had ended with him bribing the patrol officers with his last bottle of Martian whiskey—he'd been desperate for a straightforward job. The listing had seemed perfect: transport one VIP passenger to Hedonist Prime, the luxury resort planet where the ultra-wealthy went to flaunt their money at each other. The pay was enough to cover 40% of his debt to The Ion Fang.

  What the listing hadn't mentioned was that the passenger was Maximilian Plutus, a man whose net worth exceeded the GDP of several planetary systems.

  "Mr. Plutus, I think there's been a mistake," Jax began, eyeing the seventeen hovering luggage pods that followed Max like obedient pets. "My ship isn't exactly... certified for VIP transport."

  "Please, call me Max! We're going to be travel buddies!" Max slapped Jax's shoulder with surprising force. "And don't worry about certification. My legal team has already signed all the necessary waivers acknowledging that death is a possible outcome of this journey. Now, where's my suite?"

  "Suite?" Jax choked. "There's a cargo hold and my quarters. That's it."

  Max's eyes widened with delight. "Even better than I hoped! DELPHI, is it? Give my followers a tour of this magnificent vessel!"

  DELPHI's voice immediately shifted to what Jax recognized as her "premium customer service" mode—a pompous, vaguely British accent she'd downloaded after watching too many period dramas.

  "It would be my utmost pleasure, Sir Maximilian," DELPHI intoned. "If you'd direct your attention to the port side, you'll observe our vintage life support system, which operates at a charming 82% efficiency. The flickering lights are not a malfunction but rather a deliberate aesthetic choice reminiscent of Old Earth mood lighting."

  Jax groaned. "DELPHI, stop—"

  "The persistent aroma is what we in the freight industry call 'character,'" DELPHI continued. "And that scuttling sound in the walls? Our resident pest control officer—a rare Proxima Space Hamster that has made itself quite at home in our ventilation system."

  Max clapped his hands in delight. "Authentic space vermin! My content metrics are going to explode!"

  Jax pinched the bridge of his nose. "We should get going. Hedonist Prime is a 16-hour flight if we—"

  "Oh, I've changed my mind about Hedonist Prime," Max interrupted, waving dismissively. "Too predictable. Everyone in my social circle goes there. I want something more... adventurous! Something my followers haven't seen before!"

  The artificial gravity chose that moment to hiccup, sending all seventeen of Max's luggage pods floating toward the ceiling. One crashed into an overhead pipe, which began spraying a suspicious green fluid.

  "Perfect timing!" Max exclaimed, his neural-cam capturing everything. "Look at that, followers—real mechanical failure! You can't stage this kind of authentic experience!"

  ---

  Two hours later, they were underway, the Discount Otter limping through space with its new passenger. Jax had managed to fix the gravity and the leaking pipe, though his shirt now had a new stain to add to its collection.

  "So where exactly are we going?" Jax asked, settling into the pilot's seat. "I need coordinates to plot a course."

  Max, who had been rummaging through the ship's limited food supplies with the fascination of a scientist discovering a new species, looked up. "I was thinking somewhere with danger! Real stakes! Maybe a mining colony? Or one of those lawless outpost stations where they have genuine bar fights!"

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  "Those aren't tourist destinations," Jax said flatly. "They're dangerous."

  "Exactly!" Max's eyes gleamed. "My neural-cam subscription numbers will triple! Do you know how bored trillionaires get? We've done everything! I once had a resort planet create a custom volcano just so I could surf down it on a shield made of rare metals. Cost me a fortune, and I was still bored halfway down."

  DELPHI chimed in with her affected accent. "If I might make a suggestion, Sir Maximilian, our database indicates that the Rust Belt Asteroid Cluster has a rather infamous refueling station known for its colorful clientele and weekly demolition derby events."

  "Perfect!" Max exclaimed.

  "Not perfect," Jax countered. "The Rust Belt is crawling with actual pirates, not the entertaining kind. And we don't have enough fuel to make it there and then to wherever you actually want to go after you get bored of almost dying."

  Max waved away his concerns. "Money solves all problems, my disheveled friend. Speaking of which, I should transfer your payment now." He patted his pockets, then frowned. "That's odd. My universal credit chip seems to be missing."

  Jax's stomach dropped. "Missing?"

  "I'm sure it's in one of my bags. I never travel without it—it's linked directly to my primary accounts. Has access to roughly seven billion credits." Max began opening his floating luggage pods, tossing out items that probably cost more than Jax made in a year. "It'll turn up. In the meantime, set course for this Rust Belt place!"

  Jax didn't move. "No offense, but without payment, we're not going anywhere except back to where I picked you up."

  Max looked genuinely distressed. "But my adventure! My followers are expecting gritty space content! Look, I promise you'll get paid double—no, triple!—once we find my credit chip. It has to be somewhere on the ship."

  "Sir Maximilian," DELPHI interjected, "our fuel reserves are indeed insufficient for a journey to the Rust Belt. However, there is a refueling station approximately two hours from our current position. Perhaps we might stop there while searching for your misplaced financial device?"

  Jax sighed. "Fine. Two hours to the refueling station. If we don't find your chip by then, you're getting dropped off."

  ---

  The refueling station turned out to be even grimier than the Discount Otter—a cobbled-together structure of salvaged ship parts and questionable engineering. As they docked, Jax could see why it wasn't on any tourist maps.

  "This is amazing!" Max pressed his face against the viewport. "Look at that sign—'Last Chance Gas: Fuel, Food, Firearms.' So authentic!"

  "Stay on the ship while I arrange refueling," Jax ordered. "And keep looking for that credit chip."

  Of course, the moment Jax stepped off the ship, Max followed, his neural-cam hovering beside him, capturing everything.

  "I've never smelled anything like this," Max said, inhaling deeply. "Is that toxic waste mixed with body odor? Fascinating!"

  The station's central hub was a bar called The Leaky Airlock, filled with the kind of people who wouldn't think twice about robbing a well-dressed stranger. Every eye turned to Max, who stood out like a supernova in his iridescent suit.

  "Maybe tone it down," Jax muttered. "These aren't actors. They're actual criminals."

  "Even better!" Max whispered back. "But you're right—I need to blend in." He approached a burly woman missing half an ear. "Excuse me, my good lady, but might I purchase your outer garment? I find myself underdressed for this establishment."

  The woman stared at him, then at Jax. "This your friend?"

  "Never seen him before," Jax lied.

  "I'll give you ten thousand credits for that jacket," Max continued. "Once I find my credit chip, of course."

  The woman's expression darkened. "You think this is funny? Coming in here, pretending to be rich?"

  "Oh, I'm not pretending," Max said earnestly. "I'm Maximilian Plutus, CEO of GalactiCorp! I'm doing a social media series on authentic space travel experiences!"

  The bar went silent. Then someone in the back shouted, "That's the bastard whose company shut down the Titan mines! Put five thousand people out of work!"

  Jax closed his eyes briefly. "We should go. Now."

  "But I haven't experienced an authentic bar fight yet!" Max protested as Jax dragged him toward the exit.

  They didn't make it. Three large miners blocked their path, faces twisted with anger.

  "You've got some nerve showing up here, Plutus," the leader growled. "Boys, I think it's time we showed this corporate parasite some 'authentic' hospitality."

  Jax reached for the stunner he kept hidden in his boot, but before he could draw it, the station's alarm system blared to life.

  "Attention all patrons," announced a bored voice over the speakers. "GalactiCorp security vessels have entered the station. All individuals with outstanding warrants are advised to proceed to emergency exits."

  The miners looked at each other in confusion, then back at Max, who appeared equally surprised.

  "I didn't call security," he said. "I don't even know how they found—"

  The bar's doors slid open, revealing a squad of heavily armed security officers in GalactiCorp blue.

  "Maximilian Plutus," the lead officer announced, "you are coming with us. Your board has reported you missing and potentially kidnapped." The officer's gaze shifted to Jax. "And you are under arrest for the abduction of a GalactiCorp executive."

  "This is a misunderstanding," Jax started. "He hired me to—"

  "This is amazing!" Max interrupted, his neural-cam capturing everything. "A real rescue operation! My followers are going to love this plot twist!"

  As the security team surrounded them, Jax wondered if The Ion Fang would accept "arrested for kidnapping a trillionaire" as a valid excuse for missing his next payment. Somehow, he doubted it.