"Mary-Anne," Abe spoke under his breath. "Any thoughts?" Maybe if he asked nicely, she would behave herself. She'd already fucked this up for him once. She owed him and she knew it.

[i]They are juvenile delinquents from Port Hope.[/i] His AI spoke through the earpiece he'd put in when he had retrieved her. [i]Moved on board the Auburn Liberty while you slept. I was partially compromised during the affair. Apologies for the snark, earlier. It will not happen again.[/i] That was a big fat lie, Abe knew, but at least Mary-Anne was 'lucid' enough to behave as a normal AI. [i]Charges range from deviant sexuality to manslaughter and murder. Ages range from twelve to eighteen. Names are not in my records. I estimate fifteen of them would attack if fired upon. Ten more would attack for survival. Others unsure.[/i]

[i]God damn teenagers.[/i] Abe remembered being a teenager once. He'd stolen the Auburn Liberty, destroyed any possible relationship he might have had with his father, and become a fugitive. And shot a few people too: pirates, mostly. Marauders in space were rare, but if you traveled between the core worlds long enough, you ran into the pirates. Mary-Anne and the Auburn Liberty had been equipped to handle them.

And Abe himself had been equipped as well. In his hand was a Marco XFire3 Switch. Expensive, rare, probably illegal, and very useful in space. It had cost him two full shipments of cargo to purchase the damn thing, but after that botched run to Monardo, he decided it was worth the money. It was a machine-pistol with rapid-fire capabilities, though it was capable of semi-auto fire as well. More useful in space, however, was the second barrel above the first, where a Class 4 laser was mounted. It could permanently blind in an instant, cause searing damage to flesh as soon as it was turned on, and was considered a fire hazard to anything not made of metal.

In other words, Abe could mow down a hell of a lot of those kids easily. But they didn't need to know that, and he didn't like killing in cold blood on Tuesdays. He thumbed the DNA-lock back to the OFF position, and made quite the display of putting the gun back into its hip holster. It would take less than a second to get the thing up and aimed. 

He looked up at the crowd. "Been a rough day. Ship was hacked while I was asleep, illegal cargo transfer. My ship is dead, Mary-Anne is driving me insane, and my ability to contact help is gone. Even if I could get help I would probably be arrested and killed."

Abe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Look," he began again. "I don't particularly care that you stowed away. I get it. Inquisitors trying to kill all of you. Easy decision to run. No need to get snippy." He dealt with enough impudence from Mary-Anne. "Name's Abe Varker. I'm pilot, mechanic, and merchant to this hunk of crap metal." He turned to face one of the collapsed landing struts, and started walking under the hull of his battered ship to reach it.

"Y'all have fun with whatever," he said, muffled voice coming from under the ship. "Don't scratch the paint."