Inside a storage facility on a planet he’d forgotten the name of, Killian Gray stood atop an elevated walkway, leaning over the railing, and sipped his coffee while watching his minions go about their work. Everywhere he looked, the men and women of his fleet were scurrying back and forth, opening crates, sorting through their contents, and stacking them into a series of neatly organized piles in the middle of the space. He smiled, chuckling softly as he took a swing of his drink, reveling in the sweet, creamy tasting liquid that ran down his throat.

  “I love it when a plan comes together,” He said to no one but himself. There was a sense of accomplishment and excitement as he watched crate after crate being opened and unloaded. Even from his perch high above the hustle and bustle going on below, he could still spot the burned in markings displayed in proud capital letters ‘PROPERTY OF AMREITH MINISTRY OF DEFENSE’. A feeling of camaraderie welled up inside of him every time he spotted the blackened burned lettering. Even after all their squabbles and arguments, Prince Caustos had come through with his request. Now it was his turn to fulfill his end of the bargain.

  “Captain,” Akonge’s deep baritone sounded behind him, speaking in Afrikaans instead of the universal EarthGov mandated dialect that was the standard language for the rest of his crew.

  Killian looked over his shoulder momentarily, registering his first mate’s presence, before turning all the way around to regard him. From the outsider looking in, one would figure that their positions would be flipped, with Killian’s five-nine height barely coming to the giant midnight skinned Namibian’s sternum, possessing a muscular frame that looked like he could snap Killian in half without so much as a single thought. Perception wasn’t always reality however, and Killian knew the big man almost as well as he knew himself. Akonge respected strength. He always had, even back on Earth, when the two of them ran black market V.I.s and parts through the merchant clans visiting the mother planet. Akonge had witnessed Killan’s savagery on display first-hand whenever he felt that himself or his cabal were disrespected or threatened, and ever since, the giant had obeyed his orders without question. There was something special about that kind of loyalty, and, although he put on airs for the rest of the crew, Akonge was the only person where he could truly be himself. More than a brother-in-arms, Akonge was his brother in all but blood.

  “What is it, Akonge?” Killian asked, raising an eyebrow, switching to hold his coffee cup with the tips of his fingers by his side, swirling it lazily.

  “The rest of the shipment has arrived,” Akonge said, tossing a thumb behind him, “If you’d wish to go look over the cargo.”

  Killian nodded, looking down momentarily before bringing the mug back to his lips, and draining it of its contents. He gave a sigh of satisfaction as the liquid warmed his throat and core despite the slight nip in the air. Then he looked over at his second-in-command and gave a nod.

  “Lead the way, Brother.”

  A few moments later, Killian found himself outside of the massive facility, its shadow looming large over a series of five shipping containers that were perched atop a group of half-tracks, their yellow paint faded and chipped along the angular corners and edges, letting a grainy rust poke through. The road leading up to the facility was that of uneven dirt, beset on either side by a dense forest of evergreens that seemed to form an ocean of verdant green that went on for miles in every direction. Akogne stood beside him, clipboard in hand going over a series of figures with a concentrated effort. Next to him, five men in lab coats spoke amongst themselves, throwing the occasional glance toward Killian, or the containers, before returning to their huddled conversation.

  Killian simply looked forward, watching as the employees of the transport company went about their business, carefully lowering the containers to floor, before one of them, quite possibly the shift lead approached him, a clipboard of his own in hand, and looked about nervously, before settling his gaze on Killian. He was older, possibly in his late forties or early fifties, and portly. A blue hard hat covered a head that Killian was sure was balding. He wore a bright orange jumpsuit, littered with oil and food stains, and was patched around his elbows and knees, likely the work of a well intentioned spouse trying to save a few silver. The white patch above his left breast was the only part of his person not covered in the dirt and grime that was the usual for such a blue-collar job, and was stitched with the words ‘Lalton, Paradise Shipping Co.’ in bright blue thread.

  “I take it you’re the man in charge?” The man known as Lalton asked, doing a decent job of hiding the quiver in his voice.

  Killian smiled, purposely making his grin look wolfish and predatory, “What gave it away?” He asked, “That I’m the only one standing here without some shit in my hands? Or did you just make a lucky guess?”

  Lalton chuckled nervously, looking between Killian and Akonge, the latter of whom simply crossed his arms to gaze back at the man menacingly.

  “P-Probably the second one,” He said, swallowing dryly before continuing, “Just need a signature for our records.”

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  Killian watched as Akonge reached a massive hand out to take the man’s clipboard, but stopped him, putting a hand up to forestall the action.

  “One moment,” He said, looking over at his comrade before turning his eyes back towards Lalton, “Did you look inside these containers?”

  Laltons eyes widened slightly as he shook his head, “N-No Sir!” He exclaimed, “We-”

  “Because…” Killian interrupted, “I hired your company on the promise that you were a discreet bunch. I’d hate for that to turn out to be a lie.”

  “That’s not our way, Sir,” Lalton said, laughing nervously again, “Company policy prevents us from doing such a thing. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t risk my job for sheer curiosity!”

  “But did you want to?”

  “W-What?” Lalton said, his face, once tanned from a lifetime of outdoor labor slowly turning pale.

  “You heard me,” Killian said, his tone as soft and casual as if he were ordering dinner, “Did. You. Want. To?”

  Killian emphasized every word, speaking slowly and taking a step for every syllable that left his lips until he was mere inches away, the tip of his nose touching Lalton’s.

  The man gulped, this time more audibly than before, and shook his head slowly as he let out a shuddering breath, “N-No S-Sir,” He stuttered, “Can you please back up? You’re scaring me.”

  “What do you think is inside those things?” Killian asked, pointing with his chin in the direction of the containers.

  “I…” Lalton said, his eyes slowly going over to the containers, “I… don’t know.”

  Killian shrugged, a twisted sense of enjoyment roiling in his gut as he toyed with the man, “Just take a guess,” He whispered.

  Lalton shook his head, turning back to look at Killian, eyes pleading with him to stop his games, “Drugs?” He asked, “Weapons? Black market goods?”

  “Interesting choices…” Killian whispered back. He cocked his head to the side, slowly backing up a few steps as he studied him. The poor bastard was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense, and jaw set, likely not in anger, but in order to keep his teeth from chattering. If Killian had to bet, he was mere moments away from pissing himself.

  Tension washed over the open space, and no one spoke nor moved. Everyone simply stared at the two men, save for Akonge whose gaze never left Lalton’s face. Then, after what must have felt like an eternity, Killian nodded, his smile morphing into a more polite version of the hungry grin he wore before.

  “I believe you,” He said warmly, eyes never leaving Lalton’s as he spoke louder for everyone to hear, “Pay the man.”

  Akonge nodded and snapped his fingers. Within an instant, two crew members shuffled out, hauling a massive gray chest between the two of them. Quickly, they approached Lalton, sitting the chest down in front of him, before sprinting back inside.

  “Five million silver, as promised,” Killian said, reaching down to open the lid. Inside, stacks of identical silver bars neatly lined the entirety of the space. Killian watched Lalton’s eyes go wide, his anxiety forgotten as greed took over. He knelt down, running his hand over the top layer, practically salivating at the massive amount of money in front of him. When he finally pried his eyes from the chest to look up at Killian, he was greeted with his own clipboard.

  “Here you are,” Killian said, “Everything should be in order.”

  Lalton’s mouth hung open, and he blinked, looking quickly from Killian, to the now empty hand where his clipboard had been only moments before. Then he looked back at Killian, repeating the process several times as his brain struggled to find the words he wanted to voice.

  “H-How did you-”

  “You should probably get going, Mr. Lalton,” Killian said, not offering an explanation, “You have quite a drive ahead of you if I’m not mistaken. It’s a three day drive to the nearest settlement from what I remember.”

  Lalton’s mouth snapped shut, reading between the lines that Killian was done with their presence. With a single nod, he stood, calling another driver over to help him haul the chest inside the enclosed compartment that made up the driver section of his half-track. Without so much as a glance back, he and the rest of his little group rushed inside their own compartments, two to an enclosure, and, accompanied by the overwhelmed growl of their engines turning over, made their way back from where they had come.

  Killian watched silently, waiting for the vehicles to be swallowed by the forest, their loud rumbling engines slowly petering out until they were but a distant echo, before turning to his lab-coat entourage.

  “Open them,” He barked.

  The men nodded, hustling over, one to each container, before quickly unlocking the doors and flinging them open, revealing their contents to the outside world.

  Two hundred and fifty pairs of eyes met his own. Two hundred and fifty pairs that squinted in pain from the light of the afternoon sun. Two hundred and fifty pairs of eyes that belonged to two hundred and fifty men and women, each of whom were clad in ratty rough spun clothing and a thick metal collar, their bodies pale and emaciated from days or perhaps weeks of malnutrition. They each stood like ghosts, rocking back and forth on unsteady footing, as a pungent stench of voided bowels and bladders wafted off of them.

  “Well hello everyone!” Killian said with a cheerful grin, “So glad you could join me today. Welcome to orientation!”