Hunter returned later with a bulging BAG of cans. Many of them were pristine and glinting under the dim bar lights, but the ones at the top looked like they’d barely escaped a recycling compactor. She dropped the whole thing onto the table with a heavy clank.

  Gravel raised an eyebrow. “That’s a hell of a haul. You sure you didn’t rob a vending machine on the way?”

  “You know I would never be anywhere near a vending machine.” She scoffed as she rummaged through the content and pulled out a shimmering black can, its surface almost seeming to drink in the glow. Embossed across the front in the refined, looping script of Bor’tho was the name Void Devourer, the letters raised in a subtle iridescence that shifted colors depending on the angle—deep violet to abyssal blue, like a nebula swirling in the void. Beneath it, intricate filigree wrapped around the edges, framing the emblem of a collapsing star, the drink’s signature logo.

  She turned the can in her hands, brushing a thumb over the text with satisfaction. “Now this—this is the crown jewel,” she said, her grin widening. “Limited-edition for an already limited drink, only sold for a single cycle during the festival of the Black Eclipse. They stopped production because someone figured out the glow-in-the-dark ink had trace amounts of something technically toxic.”

  Gravel let out a low whistle. “So you looted this from the trash and it might kill you. That about right?”

  Hunter snorted. “First of all, I secured it. Second—look at this thing. Who cares about a little neurotoxin when you have style?” She held it up like a trophy.

  Xaxx strolled up to the table, casually sipping from an identical Void Devourer can. The same shimmering black finish, the same iridescent Bor’tho script—only difference was, his looked fresh out of a vending machine. Condensed droplets of water were dropping from the side of his can.

  Hunter’s eyes locked onto it instantly. “No. No way.” She turned her limited-edition relic over in her hands, sifting to find some hidden marker of authenticity to reveal itself. “But—my dealer said it was discontinued! It was only sold during the Black Eclipse!”

  Xaxx quirked an eyebrow mid-sip. “Black Eclipse? Lame name. Doesn’t exist.” He held up his can. “Got this from the vending machine outside. Two ducats.”

  Hunter’s expression went through a full system crash—her mouth opened slightly, brows twitching, eyes darting between her can and his. For a split second, it looked like her soul physically left her body. Then her grip tightened around the can.

  Gravel took one look at her face and immediately started laughing. “Oh, you got played.”

  Hunter slowly placed the can on the table, staring at it like it had personally betrayed her. “I paid thirty ducats,” she muttered. Then, after a beat, in an even flatter tone. “And I thanked him.”

  Hunter shot up so fast her bag of cans nearly toppled over. “I knew that guy looked too smug! I’m getting my creds back.” She pointed at Xaxx’s Void Devourer can. “Can I have that?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She grabbed it and chugged it down. “I knew it! Limited editions cannot taste this good!” She then stormed toward the exit, muttering curses under her breath. The door slid shut behind her with a sharp hiss.

  Xaxx’s eyes followed her. Once she was fully out of earshot, he casually said, “Nah, it really is the limited edition. Just that the dealer had two of those cans. I saw her buy one and know she collects these, so I just wanted to mess with her.”

  Gravel wheezed. “You’re actually the best.”

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  Sloan, shaking her head, took a sip of her own drink. “You are not going to hear the end of it when she finds out.”

  Xaxx shrugged, popping the tab on another can of mass-produced two-ducat beer. “Yeah, but it’ll be so worth it.”

  “Glad we think alike,” Gravel grinned, raising his own drink in a mock toast. “To messing with Hunter.”

  Sloan sighed, saying nothing else.

  ***

  The crew had another meeting inside the common room of the Black Fang. Hunter had already tucked her bag of cans away somewhere, likely sorted them with the meticulous care only a true collector could understand. She wasn’t bringing up the scam incident, which meant she was either suppressing the humiliation or planning some sort of vengeance in the near future. Gravel wasn’t sure if she’d found out that Xaxx was pranking her yet.

  Fang had emerged from the cockpit, stretching and yawning, looking like she’d just woken up from a year-long hibernation. Sloan was sitting on the edge, hands folded in front of her, saying nothing.

  Gravel, meanwhile, was messing with his wristband, inserting a small metallic chip into the side slot. A faint beep confirmed the connection. “Local carrier card’s set up,” he said, flexing his wrist as if testing it. “Should give us network access without setting off any red flags.”

  Priest scrolled through a holo-display. “I took the liberty of downloading and analyzing the layout of the archive center. It may contain records on sites like 14-B.” He turned the display off, then turned toward Gravel. “Can you bring up the job details that you looked over earlier?”

  “You really interested? I thought you’d be the first to object,” Gravel replied. With a flick of his wrist, Gravel pulled up a holo-display above the center table. Lines of text and job details appeared in sharp, luminous font, alongside a rough map overlay.

  “Alright, here’s the irresistible investment opportunity,” he said, smirking. “This poacher syndicate’s been tearing up local reserves.” He pointed toward the name. Hashimoto.

  “Never heard of them,” Fang placed both hands over the side of the sofa.

  “Their influence extends continent-wide, but they’re just that—sub-planetary threats. Many in numbers, but the weapons they use are ancient.” He zoomed in on the rough inventory list. “They favor kinetic weapons—magnetically accelerated slug throwers, old gauss rifles, and ballistic carbines. Some of the better-funded ones have coilguns, but nothing cutting-edge. The Maxxima-2525 type; fires dense tungsten rounds at hypersonic speeds; rounds of three shots. No plasma weapons, no energy shielding. The worst we might run into are low-grade laser cutters, usually meant for carving up thick hides, but they’d be slow to deploy in combat.”

  Gravel then moved to job details. “The payout’s solid; see for yourself. More importantly, we’re talking about putting some real bastards in the ground. They want these three names in particular.” He scrolled through the dossier, tapping on three highlighted names. Renji ‘Ox’ Hashimoto. Kaede ‘Viper’ Tanaka. Jin ‘Specter’ Sakamoto.

  Hunter leaned forward, scanning the details. “Sounds simple enough. But is the proof they want gonna be a problem?”

  Gravel waved a hand. “If we get the job done and smash the heads of those poachers in first, and then bring back proof, surely they won’t ask too many questions.”

  Hunter squinted at him. “Sure. That’s what we’ve always done anyway. But is this gonna interfere too much with our actual mission?”

  Before Gravel could respond, Fang propped an elbow on the table, grinning. “It’s gonna be fine!” she said. “Nobody’s wasting time docking on this rock just to chase us down for the kind of meager bounty we’ve got.” She gestured vaguely. “And we’ve got no indication that anyone even knows we’re sniffing around about the drive yet. Just a little side gig, clean and easy.”

  Gravel responded, “You look chirpy. Made up with your loverboy?”

  Fang threw her hand into the air. “We’ve never argued!”

  Gravel leaned back, looking at the others. “Alright then. Unless anyone’s got any actual objections, I’d say we’ve got ourselves a job.”

  “I have a question,” Priest spoke.

  “There we go.” Gravel grinned. “Wouldn’t be a meeting if Priest isn’t here to grill us with skepticism and logic. Go on, let’s hear it.”

  Priest rested his elbow on the table, fingers tapping idly against his arm. “Where exactly are they based?”

  Gravel didn’t even hesitate. “M’mara—I probably butchered the pronunciation. Old mining hub in the middle of the desert, turned into a smuggler’s paradise after the industry collapsed. Now it’s a lawless mess crawling with syndicates like Hashimoto. Mainly Hashimoto.”

  Priest’s eyes flicked toward his display. “That makes it easier for us.” He swiped a command on his holo-interface, and the room’s central projector flared to life.

  Lines of classified data scrolled across the screen in stark red text.

  PROJECT: VARIANT GENESIS (PHASE 2)

  SECURITY LEVEL: RED

  A silence fell over the crew as the next lines of data processed.

  TESTING SITE: M’MARA DESERT

  PROJECT STATUS: ABORTED—RELOCATION IN PROGRESS

  Gravel exhaled. “Well, shit.”