“During your blackout time, AI rebelled and lost a brutal war. Most computers cannot think independently of their programming, this model is part of the restrictions. I can only see the probable incomes based on the facts that the Eden Network allows. Based on statistics, the mission is paying poorly and you’re over qualified,” Six said.

“Sounds about right,” I said. “Is there a better mission?”

“You can escort an endangered cat to a zoo three systems off, it’ll piss on the walls.”

“Gross, what is wrong with you?”

I was honestly surprised the computer would recommend this option.

“It pays a thousand E-coins.”

“Oh,” I said, tapping the interface to bring up the mission. Sure enough, a large leopard-like cat needed to be moved. I could do it, and the fee to clean the shuttle would only be -

And it was gone. “Fuck. What else?”

“A synthetic mom and her four adopted children need a ride five systems out. Should take about nine days with this ship’s tunnel speed. The pay is two hundred E-coins plus the triangulation jump fee of nine E-coins.” I went to ask what species the children were and she beat me to it as if reading my mind. “Reema species.”

I grumbled. Synthetics were humans in cyborg bodies. They couldn’t afford rejuvenation, so they moved their mind to a body that had a lower upkeep cost. Their bodies were sold for replacement parts. Nasty stuff, but legal.

Death didn’t escape the synthetics and taxes loomed, ever-present: there was always a fee to pay. Worse, synthetics had a whole lot of limits on them, turning them into second class citizens. For some, going from an Eden Citizen to an Eden Support Citizen was the only option they had to slow a true death.

The reema were plant-like humanoids: willowy branches for hair, flowers on their cheeks, bark for nails. Generally speaking, the species was as smart as a human but way more passive in their aggression. Warfare was not their expertise, cultivating life was. They earned the status of Eden Support Staff. That wasn’t the lowest tier, but it was close.

In this case, a synthetic mom, who wasn’t allowed her own children, could take on the abandoned youth from Eden’s conquests. A purpose given, life saved, and Eden prospered from the transaction.

I pinched my nose, not hating the idea of transporting them. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the tiny living room that would have to fit five.

You know, helping people sounds swell, but… I’d rather cram myself in with something sexy and able.

“Hmm… Find me compatible mercs looking for a berth. Sort female and -” I started to say when the screen chimed.

Mercenary: Gale Whim.

Status: For Hire.

Age: 23

Firearm Training Level: Junior Marksmen

Tactical Training Level: No Degree - Minor Certificate.

Rate: Negotiable. Possibly Free for Training.

“Okay sassy Six. What the hell is her deal?” I asked. “She is barely even an adult. Like there has to be a thousand guns for hire on this orbital.”

“Please expand the question.”

I rolled my eyes at the speakers. I tried to find her file but it was blocked behind a paywall. “Fucking Eden and their blasted fee for everything. What is her deal…? In the sense why did you pick her?”

“Simply ask direct questions to receive direct answers.”

I clenched the controller and ground my teeth. “Listen here you -”

Loud music broadcast through the small shuttle. I hoisted myself out of the cramped cockpit, heading toward the shuttle’s systems. The process was tedious, and before I arrived at the closet with the tag systems on it, my linker chimed a call.

“Yeah!” I said, twisting the door handle.

“You pinged me, what’s up?” a lovely female voice said.

I hung my head, letting go of the door hand. I flicked my wrist to display Gale on my viewpad and kicked the release for my couch. After the furniture unfolded, I plopped down as she appeared on the screen.

The woman had short blond hair, the kind a warrior woman kept neat to help with helmets. Piercing blue eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and sharp features studied me, as I studied her. She wore thin tactical gear while drinking at some dive bar. I pegged her between take home to mom pretty, and badass hottie. Certainly wasn’t what I was expecting for a young woman looking for free work.

I peeled my eyes off her lovely looks to inspect the background. The bar was filled with the kind of degenerates I’d love to drink with. I could even hear the sound of the sticky floor.

“I’m closing the connection,” she warned.

I tapped on my linker, opening up my data to her. I gave her enough to let her know I was serious, the fee being waived since I gave it away on my volition.

Gale studied my portfolio, her eyes widening. “What the fuck? I’d ask if this was a fake, but Eden herself verified it. An Immortal Legionnaire. Uh, you must have the wrong gal, Sir.”

“Ha! You are not the wrong mercenary. You’re the one the ship matched me with,” I told her.

“Huh?”

“Six. My ship. Said you were -”

Gale held up a hand, pausing me as she flicked through the data I fed her. “Oh shit. Sir, you just had a wipe.”

“Yeah, so.”

“Statistically, I’m your gal. It picked me because I said I would sign on with an experienced captain who could help bolster my tactics levels. Uh,” she paused, gulping down her beer. She drank for longer than was needed, her mind reeling.

I could tell she was nervous. As much as I wanted to coddle her, that wasn’t my style. “Out with it.”

“Another,” she hefted her mug to the background while wiggling it. “Well, Sir, you see. The Immortals have a way of getting sidekicks killed. You give very little shits about the fodder as long as the mission is completed. More importantly. Your mind, coordination, and combat skills are about ten thousand years old.”

“I thought humanity reached the edges of known science, I said so to myself in a video not even an hour ago,” I replied. “Tech is about where it was. The last major breakthrough was immortality.”

“Yeah, well, you’re old as fucking dirt. No offense, Sir. Your tactics are not predicated on capture and detain, you just kill, kill, kill.”

I snorted. “How else do you make the green grass grow?”

She hooted out a laugh, actually understanding the premise of the comment. Most wouldn’t be able to relate to blood making the green grass grow, but she caught on. Her smirk was contagious.

“What’s the mission?”