True to their word, the Passive Swindler was fully fueled and stocked. The Commodore authorized the transfer of the ship to his destroyer. The med bay was upgraded with a newer model Auto-Doc in case the target sustained any injuries. Teams of technicians went through every system, making sure the ship was fit for the mission, but careful not to make her too pretty.

  Riordan and his father stood on the loading deck, watching crew members detaching lines and umbilici, prepping the old freighter for flight. The steady roar of the Swindler’s engines filled the bay.

  “Thank you for doing this, Atticus,” the Commodore shouted to be heard.

  “Thanks for getting me out of jail,” Riordan shouted back. Smiling, he hugged his father. The pitch of the engines increased, whipping up a strong breeze in the hangar bay.

  “Prayers for an easy run.”

  Riordan boarded his ship and made his way to the cockpit. “Status report,” he requested, pulling the restraint webbing across his chest and buckling it into place. His hands danced over the controls with the ease of long practice and familiarity.

  “Stocked, locked, and ready to rock! All systems are go for departure,” Folyn replied from his position. In their several years of partnership, Folyn was more than proficient at the operation of the Swindler. There were several brief occasions due to injury or incarceration when Folyn played Captain.

  Riordan pulled the data chip from his shirt and plugged it in. “Prepare to receive coordinates,” he said.

  “Coordinates received, inputting destination. FTL solution in 120 sections.”

  The roar of the Swindler’s engines slowly died as the atmosphere was pumped out of the hangar bay. The outer door opened faster than something of its size should, revealing nothing but darkness. The hangar lights were too bright for stars to be visible.

  “Control, this is the Passive Swindler, Delta Delta Two One Four, requesting departure vector,” Riordan purred professionally into his headset.

  "Swindler, this is Control, departure vector sent. Godspeed, and bring her home, Son," Commodore Koenig replied over the coms.

  Suppressing a smile, Riordan responded, "Roger that, Control. Swindler out. Jaisen, how long of a flight are we looking at?"

  Jaisen tapped a few controls. "We are looking at 36 hours, give or take, at max FTL. Longer if you want to add a few jumps for security."

  "Roger, as soon as we jump to FTL, I’ll take the first watch. You get some rest. Let's do this."

  He reached forward on his left, resting his hand on the throttle control as he pulled back on the control yoke with his right. The ship lifted several meters off the deck. Tapping the foot pedals expertly, he spun the Swindler to face the opening. He eased the throttles forward, and the Swindler slid into the inky darkness.

  Volunteering for the first watch, Riordan sent his associate aft for some rest. Not necessarily normal for freight operations, the pair long ago fell into the habit of setting at military-style watch. Six hours on, six hours off. Riordan monitored the systems and control boards making occasional adjustments as needed. Folyn relieved him at the appointed time. Before giving over command Riordan dropped the ship out of hyperspace and then jumped back in for security. An observer can project a ship's trajectory and velocity if they observe the jump. The easiest way to defeat this is to drop out, and then jump back in. This conceals the true destination if you pre-plan and enter hyperspace heading in a direction not in line with your actual destination.

  Sketchy missions always made it difficult for Riordan to sleep. Without a sleep aid it wasn't unusual for him to remain awake for 48 hours or more if the mission called for it. Riordan took his medicine and settled into his humble bunk just behind the command deck for some much deserved rest. Nothing significant happened and they traded shifts when the time came. An inspection was required per shift where a crew member walked all passages and checked all bulkhead doors for obstructions, and for leaks, or anything else out of the ordinary. If they were transporting cargo the cargo was inspected for shifting or anything unusual.

  The trip continued in a similar fashion until they neared the rendezvous point. Riordan elected to remain awake though it was his turn at rest. He ran diagnostics on defensive shields and weapons systems. He inspected his personal armor and weapons, just in case. He was going to make the actual exchange while Folyn remained on the ship to facilitate a hasty egress.

  "Ten mikes until we exit hyperspace, 10,000km short of the rendezvous point which is... empty space. Literally nothing." Folyn called over the com. Riordan was in the cargo hold inspecting the crates of credit chips strapped to a grav sled.

  "Roger," he replied. "The ransom is still secured. I'm going up to check the med bay and make sure its ready to go, just in case."

  Folyn shook his head. Riordan didn't like to admit it, but he got nervous as showtime approached. Every. Mission. But once everything was in place he was in his element. The nervousness evaporated as if it were never there and he was cool, calm, and professional.

  Riordan was seated comfortably in his chair as the ship dropped out of hyperspace with a twisting sensation and a slight twinge of dizziness.

  "Passive Sensors only. We're a bit early, let see if they're here yet." Riordan ordered. While the sensors were doing their job he was going over the shields and weapons. He made sure they had a direct route to FRS space locked into the navcomp. Once the order was given it would only take 60 sections for the hyper drive coils to charge for the jump.

  "Sensors are reading a thermal signature and various spurious transmissions consistent with a ship the size of the Zarkazian," Folyn reported.

  "Alright, let's do this. Sweep them once with the sensors, full power."

  Folyn complied and a few moments later the mystery ship responded with a message giving them instructions to park in their hanger. Riordan took manual control of the Swindler and headed in their direction. He reduced speed as they approached. “Anything… weird?”

  “Nothing. No weapons activity. Shields lowered. Hanger lights on.”

  “Well, let’s do this then,” he said, aligning the Swindler with the hanger opening. The Zarkazian was easily ten times the size of the Passive Swindler, but having a hanger large enough for her was unusual. He expertly manipulated the controls to gently set her down in the middle of the hanger. It was very clean and organized, which was actually pretty normal for a ship involved in criminal enterprises but not what normal people would expect. There were two smaller shuttles modified with illegal weapons on the dextral side of the hanger and one small maintenance craft with various armatures and tanks mounted to the framework on the sinistral side of the hanger. They must store most of their cargo in a separate cargo bay as there was nothing else in the hanger aside from a few pallets of supplies and some neatly stacked crates.

  They sat there for a moment before the outer door of the hanger began to close.

  “That’s not cool. I don’t like that.” Riordan said.

  A few minutes later Riordan descended the rear cargo ramp pushing the grav sled loaded with fifteen million credits, packed in sealed crates, ahead of him. He stopped just in front of his ship and waited.

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  “Any communications from the crew?” He asked Folyn over the com installed on his helmet.

  “Nothing after the instructions to present the credits for inspection.” Folyn replied.

  Riordan stretched his chest muscles, reassured by the feeling of his trusty slug thrower concealed behind his breastplate. If something went down, it should be enough to allow him to grab the plasma rifle he left at the top of the ramp, just in case.

  A small hatch on the far wall of the hanger slid open. Roger Syddel himself emerged and strode confidently across the hanger floor toward him.

  “Are you alone?” Syddel asked.

  “I have one crew member on board, but other than that, it's just us.”

  “Do you know who I am? I know who you are, Captain Riordan. You’re the Hero of Pranna III, you ran a federal blockade to deliver lifesaving treatment for a plague, and refused payment, no less!”

  “I don’t care. All I care about is making sure this exchange is conducted to the mutual benefit of each party.” Riordan replied, patting the grav sled of credits.

  Syddel whistled loudly to signal his followers. “You know, they came to me first, Pranna III. How much did they offer, 50k, a hunert? I had to politely refuse as that wouldn’t even cover my fuel costs, not to mention payroll, benefits, 401k contributions, you know. You’re not very smart are you?”

  Riordan was about to answer with a witty reply but there was a commotion at the hatch. He leaned slightly to the left to see around Syddel.

  Armed rough-looking men approached. They wore a motley assortment of body armor and various other gear and dragged a hooded and shackled woman with them. The two men dragging the prisoner dropped her at his feet.

  Riordan crouched down to inspect the prisoner as Syddel’s men began opening crates and scanning the credits. He pulled back the black hood from her face, revealing bruises and dried blood. She was having trouble remaining conscious.

  “She’s been abused!” Riordan accused, looking up at Syddel.

  “She resisted,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “Over and over and over,” one of the other men added with an evil laugh.

  Riordan waved a handheld scanner around her head, revealing no permanent damage and the presence of several sedative chemicals. He scanned the rest of her body, revealing contusions and other evidence of abuse. His blood boiled. He gently helped her to her feet. “Jaisen, prepare to receive one in the med bay,” Riordan called over his com. “It’s going to be ok, hun. You're going home.”

  “Acknowledged,” Jaisen replied.

  Riordan turned with his charge to walk the 50 feet to the Swindler’s ramp. They made less than a dozen. One of Syddel’s henchmen barked something in another language, possibly Deutch or Franc. Riordan only knew basic and some curses in Chin and Hispan.

  “What are you doing?”

  Riordan looked back over the slumped head of the woman at Syddel. “I’m stowing my cargo, what does it look like?” He took another few steps, ending up under the edge of the Swindler.

  “You’re short!” Syddel barked.

  Riordan stopped with his back to the pirates. The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled. One after the other, the whine of charging blast pistols and plasma rifles filled the awkward silence.

  “What do you mean it’s short? 15 million credits. I counted it myself,” Riordan growled. He knew they were going to pull something like this! His hand stole to the butt of his trusty slug thrower concealed under his breastplate. Frelling Pirates!

  “Initiating plan B,” Jaisen whispered over the com.

  Riordan adjusted his grip on his charge, using the movement to hide the drawing of his slug thrower from its holster. “Now!” he yelled, pointing his gun and throwing slugs in Syddel’s direction. At the same moment, the navigation thrusters they had been standing under fired, belching out nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and xenon like a fog machine at a Karak festival. Plasma fire and blaster bolts screamed around the pair as he mostly dragged his charge up the nearby boarding ramp. He thought his rounds hit at least one henchman.

  “I’m going back for the credits!” he yelled over the comm, dropping the nearly unconscious woman to the deck. He grabbed the plasma rifle he secured near the hatch before the drop and rushed back down the ramp. “Be ready to get us out of here!”

  “Frek the money!” Jaisen yelled back over the com, but it was too late. Jaisen flipped switches and turned dials, bringing the ship’s defensive plasma cannons online.

  Riordan used the cases of credit chips on the grav sled as cover, as the pirates laid down suppressive fire so their boss could escape the firefight. Credit chips rained down as Jaisen sent cannon fire screaming over Riordan’s head, incinerating one of the henchmen as he popped up to fire at Riordan. The fog screen from the thrusters dissipated rapidly.

  “Upper catwalk!” Riordan yelled after a sniper’s bolt nearly took his head off while he was busy firing in Syddel’s direction. Jaisen strafed the catwalk with a scintillating barrage of cannon fire. Riordan took advantage of the distraction and sprinted to a pile of crates. Aiming, Riordan fired a volley of plasma bolts at Syddel’s retreating back. Syddel stumbled, grabbing at his right leg. Riordan’s plasma rifle beeped loudly. He cursed vehemently as he slammed a new charge pack into the rifle’s butt-stock. Plasma fire tore at the crates he hid behind. Riordan risked a glance. “Where are they?”

  “Four dead, two for you, two for me. Most of them retreated down the corridor with Syddel,” Jaisen replied. “Two or three are using the crates by the main hatch as cover.”

  Riordan grabbed the handle of the grav lift and ran with it to the ramp, credits spilling out of the shattered containers. “I got the credits, let’s get the frek out of here!” The grav lift self-powered its way up the ramp as it rose to a closed position. Seconds later, Riordan stormed onto the bridge. He ripped his helmet off and let it drop to the deck.

  “What’s the holdup?” He asked angrily, stripping off his armored vest, trying to ignore the smoking crater that almost went all the way through.

  “They closed the hangar door,” Jaisen replied, “Remember!”

  “Hijo De Puta! Shoot our way out,” Riordan replied, strapping himself into his captain’s chair.

  “It’s armored. Our cannons wouldn’t even make a dent,” Jaisen replied, hands dancing over the engineering console. “Plus we have other issues. The Zarkazian outclasses us by a wide margin.”

  “Not in all areas. We’re smaller and more maneuverable,” Riordan replied, waking his console. The pitch of the engines rose as he added power. He pulled the data fob from around his neck, inserting it into the slot in his console. “Uploading rendezvous coordinates into the navcomp. I need that door open! Can’t you hack it or something?”

  A pair of pirates began firing from the hatchway of the corridor. Jaisen directed a barrage of cannon fire in their direction. The damage was impressive. The frame glared a dull orange and slumped to the floor.

  “Already on it,” Jaisen replied. “I’m in their system. Truly laughable security.”

  Riordan lifted the Swindler a meter from the deck. The ship rotated to face the hangar door, the wash from her engines and thrusters tumbling crates and debris. “Great, now get the door open!”

  “They’re spooling FTL!”

  “If they jump with us in here, we’re frelled!”

  Jaisen navigated through the Zarkazian’s network. Network architecture varied little from ship to ship unless you were running a custom operating system. The first thing he did was grant himself full administrative permissions. Exploiting a well-documented security flaw, he deleted all other user profiles and permissions. “I just locked them out of Navigation, life support, comms, pretty much everything. It’ll take them hours to recover.”

  “Great! They can’t follow us. Let’s make sure,” Riordan said, targeting the pair of armed shuttles on the far side of the hangar bay with the ship’s cannons. Plasma fire lanced across the bay, striking the craft. The side of one shuttle caved in with a shower of sparks, and the other exploded. The shockwave rocked the Swindler. Fire blossomed from the stacks of crates and pallets of supplies.

  “That wasn’t the best idea, bossman,” Jaisen said.

  “Why not?”

  "The refueling bladders were under the deck plates on that side of the bay."

  "Well, open the door and it won't be a problem anymore," Riordan replied.

  Jaisen accessed the override controls, and the outer hangar door trundled open. He didn't engage the containment field, allowing the atmosphere in the hanger to violently vent into space. Deprived of oxygen, the fires quickly went out. "All our problems solved!" Jaisen quipped from his console.

  The bay's illumination panels flickered and went out. Riordan turned on the Swindler's landing lights and slammed the throttle control to max. The Swindler rocketed out of the Zarkazian's hangar.

  "Full scans," Riordan ordered as he pulled the throttle back a quarter, easing the strain on the old engines.

  "The Zarkazian is dead in the water. No pursuit. No other vessels within sensor range."

  "Prepare for FTL," Riordan announced, his hand hovering over the large red button.

  "All boards are green, navcomp coordinates locked," Jaisen replied, smiling.

  In a flash of blinding light, the Swindler's FTL engines tore through space and time, propelling her and her crew into another dimension where physics and time were… different.