“Do you believe in fate, Mal?”

“Fate? Like cosmic destiny kind of fate?”

“Sure.”

“Then, no.”

“Hmm… Well I do. There are moments in our lives where we are compelled to act regardless of the circumstances or the consequences. Doesn’t that strike you as fateful?”

Her words rang in his ears as he sat in the hold of the S0-Kiff in transit to the docking bay of the freighter suspended in low-orbit outside Charon. He was still unsure if the events of last night were even real. A pretty girl tracking him down on a beach to ask for his help? There was a possibility he had hallucinated all of it.

Looking down at the surface of the red planet, Wrynn started to feel the tingle in the back of his head. He recognized it as the feeling that had kept him alive to this point. It mocked him, saying, “you really shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

“Come in, E4-Kinkaid. This is passenger skiff Superior-03 requesting docking permissions.” The pilot addressed the giant freighter through the low-frequency radio.

“Copy that, Superior-03,” came the response. “This is E4-Kinkaid. Dock 2 has been prepared for your arrival. The Earl has been expecting you.”

Wrynn felt the ship rock as they prepared to dock. He caught himself against the seat and took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“You okay, kid?” Searin looked at him from across the hold.

“He’s still recovering from the wild night we had, Boss.” A hearty laugh emerged from Curly sitting next to the Panserra. “Can’t hardly believe he came out with us. Drank the weight of Half-pint over there.”

The small-framed Noggish, Vic, to the left of Wrynn shot Curly a scowl, but it quickly disappeared when the one-eyed fat man leaned his weight forward.

“I’m fine, Boss,” said Wrynn. “Just a little tired.”

Searin tossed him a thin vial. “Take a shot of Caff and shake it off. We need everyone on their best behavior today. That goes triple for you, big guy.”

“Hey, I’m great with fancy folk,” said Curly. “Last dame I bedded was the daughter of some traveling politician.”

“That was the last dame, eh?” said Vic. “Weren’t that three years ago?”

“Shut it, gnome.”

The S0-Kiff connected with the docking port and the four passengers stood up to disembark. Wrynn stuck the vial of Caff-Now in his left nostril and inhaled the aerosol contents. An immediate rush caused his muscles to jitter, but eventually settled to a comfortable state of alertness. He wiped his nose and stuck the empty vial into his pocket, his hand brushing against a thin metal card which he re-situated to a safe position.

Inside the E4-Kinkaid, Wrynn marveled at the vastness of the cargo dock in which they had entered. All around them were shipping containers: heavy metal crates and vessels carrying all manner of goods. Wrynn noticed the workers of the freighter were sitting around, playing cards, or napping. The pilot of the skiff, Hughie, stopped to trade information with the dock master while Searin motioned for the others to follow.

“You been here before, Boss?” asked Vic as they made their way through the dock.

Searin shook his head. “No. I met our man during our stint on Tauros a few weeks ago. Deep pockets. Fancy fucker.”

“What’s he doing all the way out here?” asked Curly.

“Word is he transports some… special cargo through the Eight Sectors.”

“So what’s the job, then?” asked Wrynn.

“Kid, we talked about this.” Searin let out a sigh. “He’ll go over that when we meet him. But let me do the talking.”

They arrived at the private quarters on the upper deck where two guards were posted outside a closed door. They looked up at Searin, sizing up the black-furred Panserra.

“Aw’right. Wha’s your business?” asked one of the guards, bluntly.

“Here on the request of The Earl,” said Searin, flashing a smile. “He should be expecting us.”

The two guards looked at each other, then back at the crew. One of them nodded. “Empty your pockets.”

Searin raised his hands. “Come now, gentlemen. Surely that won’t be necessary.”

“Earl’s got a lot of enemies,” said the guard. “You can come get your stuff back when you’re finished.”

“We ain’t giving you our stuff, you quacked pervert,” said Curly, stepping forward. Searin put his hand up to stop the big man.

“Listen. I’m sure you two are very trustworthy individuals,” said Searin, “but what I think my friend here is trying to say is that we bear no ill will to The Earl. We’re under his employ, same as you. So it would be mutually beneficial if you just let us pass.”

One of the guards stepped towards Searin and put his face right against that of the Panserra. Wrynn’s hand hovered over his pistol, but he felt the eyes of the other guard on him.

“Empty. Your. Pockets.” The guard in Searin’s face demanded.

Searin waved his hand in front of his face and broke eye contact. He let out a small chuckle. “You know, I was just telling my boys we have to be on our best behavior.” Searin looked at the guard, smiled, and then twisted violently and punched the man across the face. The other guard jumped to action, pulling out his pistol, but Wrynn was slightly faster and trained his weapon between the guard’s eyes to discourage him.

At this time, the door swung open and a man in a fancy suit stood in the opening with an ambivalent expression.

“Ah, Mr. Searin and Co., I presume,” said the fancy man. “Right on time. Let them pass, Sessler, York.”

The two guards dropped their arms and made way. The one Searin punched glared as the crew walked by, holding his cheek.

Entering the quarters, the first thing Wrynn noticed was the giant glass window that covered the back wall with a view of deep space, millions of stars and nebulae twinkling beyond. The room was otherwise decorated with sleek furniture and bookshelves filled with paper books and treaties. An antiquated medium of documentation, Wrynn decided it matched the old-school appearance of the man who owned it.

“Sorry for the disruption,” said Searin. “You know us businessmen have a distaste for being told what to do.”

“Think nothing of it. If you are willing to demonstrate as much consideration for my belongings as you did for yours, I think we will do just fine.” The Earl introduced himself to the rest of the crew. “My name is Illadrin von Strichter. You may have heard of me under the pseudonym The Earl. I assure you I hail from no such real nobility, but I will admit I am among the top ranks of what I do.”

“Might be best if you tell my boys what it is you do, Earl,” said Searin. “They’ve been itching to ask, I know.” He glanced at Wrynn.

The Earl sat behind his desk and folded his hands on the table as he explained. “I am in the business of transporting items of delicacy around the galaxy. When someone with particular interests desires something particular, I bring it to them. And I do so discreetly.” The Earl looked over the three crew members, sizing them up. “I hope that should be enough explanation to satisfy your curiosity. What I hope your leader, Mr. Searin has elucidated to you three is that this job will require your utmost discretion.

“You will be tasked with transporting an item to an individual on Charon. Personally, I find him a rather unsavory fellow, so I will let you imagine the nature of object he has requested. However, I am known for upholding the privacy of my clients, which means it is imperative that you forget everything you have seen or heard in transit of delivery.”

Searin made a face. “You want us to be your delivery boys? I didn’t think that was what we talked about.”

“Delivery boys. Escorts. Call it what you want.” The Earl leaned forward. “What I require is someone to complete the request I have been given. I have been stuck here waiting for landing clearance for a week because the expedited dock is ordering full searches of incoming cargo. With the sensitivity of the items we have on board, I’m sure you can understand that is not something I would like to go through. Now, the deadline for this delivery is approaching and I have multiple orders in three other systems that need to be attended. With this time sensitivity in mind, your fee will be one-tenth of the cost of the goods you are delivering.”

“And how much is the cost of the goods?” asked Searin.

The Earl stood up from his seat and looked out the window. “Seven hundred thousand credits.” He looked back at the four men. “And if you struggle with arithmetic, your payment will be seventy thousand credits.”

Curly let out a whistle. Vic tapped his foot excitedly. Wrynn almost could not believe his ears. His cut of the take would cover the last five jobs they had taken and then some. As long as he got paid this time. He watched Searin take in the news and how the Panserra tried to stay neutral so as not to betray his position.

Searin’s nose twitched a few times and then he said, “How about we do seventy-five? An extra fee for the best crew you’ll find on this backwards planet.”

The Earl looked back at them, eyes narrowed. The room went silent as the man adjusted his cuffs. “You know what I like about you, Mr. Searin? It is that you understand that we are in the business of making money. And yet, you are so willing to settle for shaving the smallest hair off the top. You understand an extra five thousand is less than a ten percent increase in your wage, do you not? A mere one percent of what I am receiving for this request?” The Earl let out a sigh, like a disappointed parent. “Yes, we can agree on seventy-five thousand for your take. But next time I would advise you to ask for more.”

Searin pursed his lips. “Let’s call it a hundred thousand flat, then. How’s that?”

“Now, now.” The Earl shook his head. “We have both already uttered the same number. If you are a man of your word, you’ll accept this offer. Or else, I may have to reassess my understanding of you.”

Wrynn could see the wheels turning in his boss’ head. Taking the money now made him look weak, but getting frustrated would make him look even weaker. He could sense the experience in this Earl. A weathered skill for manipulation.

“Fine,” said Searin, finally. “Seventy-five thousand.” He and The Earl shook hands.

The Earl smiled. “Then let me show you what it is you’ll be transporting.”