Blood money. Maurice was no stranger to it. It was his own at first, spilt on hot rock and cold iron machinery, working the depths of the earth for muddy water. Now as before, with his knees on the warm stone and his fingers pressed to the crewman's neck, it was strangers' blood. 

The man's pulse died away but a moment after his chest stopped heaving. His face was undone, turned to ribbons of flesh drenched in gore, splintered bone, and oozing gray matter. But the body struggled until the end, and Maurice held on. He did not bother with words, though he felt no joy in it. The pirate's arms twitched and jerked well after the last beat of his heart, and he lay still.

"I'll take that money, Captain," he said, more to himself than anyone else, and let the dead man's corpse fall softly to the ground. He stood and dusted himself, faced the ship and moved on. Men died, bullets were spent, and Dims changed hands. That was the way it was for people like them.

He turned to the woman, the mercenary who had fired the first shot. She rushed past, eager to get her due. To be mad at her for the lives wasted on that port would be bullshit on him. His mother had raised no bullshitter. What devils prowled the wasteland knew, he'd done his fair share of wasting.

He followed after her---pausing by the beastman, Misha, to offer a nod---and into the captain's cockpit. Animated, eager, she cut to the chase. Once done, Maurice had little to add.

"As she said, Captain." He pulled from under his belt a bundle of papers. Pages scribbled-on by men he'd worked for, pages he couldn't read. Trust and the loyalty between men who'd bled and killed for each other were the worth he gave to those pages.

"I've served aboard the [i]'Heroic'[/i], with Captain Mortain, from the Deepwell Company, down in the South. Captains O'Ciara, from the [i]'Indomitable'[/i] and Kelly, from the [i]'Forgotten'.[/i] Done work for others, too." He offered his contracts as proof. "For what it's worth, Captain."