If your gonna get taken, better it be by rubes, Augustine thought. His head felt full of shattered glass and the burning hint of bile lingered in the back of his mouth, but he smiled nonetheless as he palmed the small, dull colored blade from where it lay sheathed in the buckle of his belt. Rule one when you're taking prisoners is, always make 'em strip, and always scan 'em for tech. Fuckin' amateurs.

As Augustine quietly sawed through the links in his chains with the monoknife, the guards were busy barkin' at the mouthy little sprite they had chained up front- they seemed genuinely spooked by her, moreso by far than they were of Augustine. Considerin' he'd blown away a half dozen or so of their colleagues earlier in the day, he reckoned that made whoever she was formidable. 

He wondered what in the six hells she'd done to get herself mixed up in this mess. A Union spook, maybe, but then it'd be weird if a real pro'd wound up caught by these hicks.

The transport left the forest and began trailing the ridge of what first seemed to be a canyon. Only with a second look did Augustine register it for what it was, a vast open faced mine, with roads spiraling down its sides. Spotlights lit up huge metal trusses and scaffolds as the day gave way to frosty twilight. 

He noticed the sea-turtle silhouette and flashing lights of a bulk conveyance flashing a little ways ahead, circling what he assumed was a landing pad. Legally, all space travel on and off planet had to go through Port Carolus. Customs on this backwater was a joke, and Benson had a thriving black market through the regular channels of trade, with Kesselbrood and Imperial officials mostly happy to look the other way and take their cut.

Whatever they were shipping off-world here they were real keen to keep hidden from official eyes. 

One of the guards went up to towards the cab to speak to the driver.

"What're you all diggin' up here?" croaked Augustine to the remaining guard, "This sure as hell ain't a uranium outfit."

"Salvation," said the guard, striding down the aisle to where Augustine sat, "Don't worry, wastrel, you'll see soon enough, maybe even come to belie-"

He noticed the broken chains but it was too late. Augustine lurched forward as the truck bounced over a rut and sank his blade into the man's neck, knocking the rifle from his grip and sending it clattering to the back of the truck. The two men tumbled to the ground, Augustine keeping one hand firmly planted on the dying man's mouth and tossing the monoknife to the woman in chains. It landed between her shackled feet, hypersharp blade buried in the metal floor of the transport.

The other guard had returned from the cab, blinked as he registered what was going on, and hefted his rifle to fire on Augustine, who was pointing the dead guard's sidearm straight at him.

"Not so fast, friend," said Augustine.