The Highlander descended towards Dioni III in a gentle dive. Bracchus Prime was gradually eclipsed as the moon swelled to fill the viewport. The plot position board was alive with reports, dozen if not hundreds of craft were lifting and landing at any one moment, each one captured and plotted by the Highlander’s sensors. The glut of electronic information only became intelligible when Sayeeda had Lonney filter for likely threats based on power to weight ratios. Even so a dozen ships ranked as threats capable of engaging the Highlander and one group of a half dozen fighter sized vessel ranked as a possible if operating as a unit. More interestingly the sensor data registered a heavy ship, cruiser size or larger, partially concealed in the icy rings of Bracchus Seccundus, a large and otherwise uninspiring gas giant several light minutes out. Only the Terran’s and a few other of the major regional powers built such warships and its presence, if the sensor read was accurate, was concerning but not immediately worrying.

The communications board was lit up too and Taya typed in a continual stream. Several docking options appeared in a sidebar of Junebug’s console, conveniently tagged with estimated cost and services provided. Junebug quickly eliminated those which were unbelieveabley cheap and unreasonably expensive. The Highander was in fighting trim after its refit on Dar’mond so she swiped away those options which had extensive repair facilities. From the remaining list, still more than a dozen, she selected the third least expensive. Despite the presence of a fortune in rare minerals, they were cash poor. The repairs on Beckett’s node, seemingly a life time ago had been expensive. Similarly the cola shipment that they had jetisoned in favor of saving Aiden and his men was a loss. They were low on food and ammunition and had only a few thousand credits in various forms of exchange to batter with. Well she supposed she and Taya coud sell their dresses for something but they were still going to need to make this happen quickly.

The Highlander rocked slightly as it entered the atmosphere, friction heat making the forward shield glow momentarily before they punched into the air below. The moon was in a geostationary orbit and their destination was on the side facing the primary. The only illumination it received was reflected from the Prime. The sea of light below them blazed in defiance of the natural darkness. The entire moon was covered with construction, vast canyons existed between levels, the result of happenstance rather than good planning. Air cars, many of them older than Sayeeda herself, buzzed up and down. Casinos, lit up in neon, or topped with holoprojectors battled for attention with a constant barrage of noise and light. The lower levels contained bars, shops, repair facilities and, presumably, homes.

“Looks like a fun place,” Sayeeda commented to no one in particular. Although her voice was noncommittal she was more serious than not. After the glitz and media attention on Dar’mond she was rather looking forward to some anonymity. Part of her was concerned that they were only three days from Dar’mond and that it was such an obvious destination for them to choose. The jump had been hard across a RIP current though and if Lonney was correct a major current shift should take place in the next twelve to forty eight hours. Current changes within the RIP could alter navigational time tables by weeks or months. Unless the Dar’mond authorities were especially quick to launch their pursuit, they would find their quarry long gone by the time they reached the Smuggler’s Den.

The Highlander jinked suddenly. There was no feeling of motion with the grav pumps running but the shifting viewscreen and the sudden whine of the compensators gave it away. Junebug looked up at Neil who was settling them back onto course for one of the artificial canyons. His sudden swerve had been to evade a string of air bikes which had boiled up unexpectedly from a building. She doubted that any of them could have dented the shielding, but she would rather not rack up a body count before she even touched the ground.

“I guess areospace control is sort of crowd sourced,” she commented mildly, eliciting a snort from Neil.

A few minutes later the Highlander set down in a broad concrete floored hangar. Three other ships, also small freighters shared the bay, though none of them were in nearly as good condition as the Highlander. One of them, a battered Xylar had holes in its hull patched with plastic sheeting and rivets. It must have been temperature stable enough to survive re entry but it must have leaked air at a prodigious rate. More likely than no the hold itself was open to vacuum and only the cockpit and engineering sections were pressurised when it was beyond and atmosphere. A good way to get yourself killed in anyone's book. Stevedores moved between the ships and low slung cargo sleds, shifting boxes that might be anything from innocuous food stuffs to highly illegal nerve toxins. 

Sayeeda walked down the ramp before the hydraulic extenders touched it to the ground. She was wearing her ceramic chest plate atop a tan PT shirt and a set of combat pants tucked into dark tan combat boots. A submachine gun hung from an attachment point on her chest, her helmet clipped to her belt on the right side. In contrast to her previous policy she hadn’t opted to cut her hair, letting it hang halfway to her shoulders. The interior of the docking bay smelled of plasma burns and ancient lubricant as well as the sharp tang of ozone from a recent weld. In places oils dripped from leaky hoses, running in sluggish streams to a central drain of rusted metal.

“Well, at least it isn’t a crash landing in a river,” she remarked to Neil as he clambered down the ramp. A grease stained man in filthy coveralls was striding across the floor towards them, avoiding the streams of oil with casual familiarity. He waved and smiled cheerfully, though Sayeeda didn’t doubt he had cracked a head or two with the heavy hydraulic spanner that hung from his utility belt. The man was completely bald, his shining pate spotted with patches of dark melanin that he certainly hadn’t picked up on this moon. She held up a mesh bag containing the agreed upon amount of credit chips. The fellows grin broadened, teeth surprisingly white against his grimy skin.

“Ok, it is your show,” she told Neil, gazing around at the freighters with interest. Being in a place like this was why she had poured her life savings into the Highlander. Excitement and adventure were a drug, one you kept taking regardless of how likely it was to get you killed.
[@POOHEAD189]