As far as Federal minions went, Zenaro was a nebula-sized scumbag like few others. Those loyal to President Hudson were, under normal circumstances, an agreeable lot. Perhaps a little to militaristic and uptight for my taste, but my experience with Federation pilots was usually, if not cordial, at least not hostile.

Federal administrators, on the other hand, ranged from bureaucrats who could not go to the toilet without filling out half a dozen notarized forms, to those who would not allow you to unload that kind of cargo without charging you for station mass balance. For a galactic power that outlawed most of the fun substances in the known universe, they were hardly moderate in their attitudes.

Then there were the human bio-waste equivalents like Zenaro. I like that the Federation believes that governments should not meddle on the lives of individuals. Hell, the fact that they will turn a blind eye to whatever goes down on a system, as long as it provides enough command capital to strengthen its military is what keeps pilots like me employed and alive. If a system manages to keep criminal activity out of the public eye, the population under control, and the Empire and Alliance at bay, the Federation will overlook almost anything. And Zenaro is very good at doing just that.

The best way to control crime, as Zenaro exemplifies, is by being both the enforcer and the biggest criminal. As the federal faction leader of the Sui Guei system as well as the main criminal boss not only generates considerable profits, but it also allows for control of every station and outpost. Be it on the commodities market or the black market, Zenaro got his cut.

When Toshiro told me that we would be stealing from him, I considered letting myself out of an airlock and saving everyone the trouble. As pilots, we do reckless and dangerous things on a daily basis, that’s just part of life in an environment that wants you dead and uses every law of science to ensure you end up as space debris. But there is a difference between high-risk/high-reward, and high risk, -there-is-no-way-the-reward-can-be-high-enough.

It is a simple formula, really. You smuggle, heist, or salvage and sell it to criminals, or you hunt criminals and hand in bounties to the authorities. But here the criminals and the authorities were the same. There was no winning scenario.

I expressed these concerns and more in a loud and, in retrospect, perhaps too childish manner. I may have thrown a tantrum, even. But Toshiro just chuckled and waited for me to regain my composure, which is a terribly impolite and infuriating way to react to emotional outbursts and not the response I was aiming for.

“It is actually not that complicated or risky,” Toshiro enunciated perfectly in that annoyingly deep voice of his. “You just fly us to Forfait Installation. Mirez will take out the turrets from above, and Bolo will drive the ground vehicle to retrieve the data on Zenaro. We’ll be in and out in no time.”

Despite his calming and confident tone, every word he had spoken left me feeling more uneasy. “Forfait? That is not even in Zenaro’s system, that is over at Mu Aquilae. Why would Zenaro hide any data on another oooh…” I trailed off. Of course. Number one rule for any criminal or entrepreneurial individual: don’t shit where you eat. If Federation auditors were to find anything on Sui Guei, the gig was up. But they would hardly look in an outpost on a rock with no atmosphere some ten light years away, hidden in another system.

Information is a very valuable commodity, especially in Federation space. Blackmail Zenaro, sell it to his rivals, there certainly were credits to be made. Might want to avoid Sui Guei for a while after the job, which was a shame since it has a very nice black market, but the possible pay off was worth it.

I trusted Toshiro, despite not having known him for long. Hard to explain, really. I even trusted Mirez, one of the other two crew members, to some degree. She had scientific approach to explosive ordinance that I found incredibly amusing. She treated weapons modules more like laboratory equipment than armaments.

Bolo, on the other hand, made me uneasy. From what I had gathered, he used to be an explorer. He was a quiet guy, but he would drop remarks on occasion that made me shiver. He would mumble about having seen something out there, or would say something about Elder Gods of the deep abyss. Not the best conversational partner when facing potential death on the hands of criminal bosses slash system administrators.

Uneasiness or even abject terror at the job or not, I was involved. Plus, if I avoided every job that frightened me, I would not ever leave a station. So I followed Toshiro’s commands, sat back behind the ships controls, and plotted our course. Flying the FDS Cyclopean Endeavor was becoming more familiar. Having a crew take care of ship functions made my job much easier, too. Maneuvering this drifting hunk of metal was difficult enough as it was without trying to fight off aggressors.

Toshiro ordered the crew to strap in as I approached the solitary, featureless planet and angled down for orbital cruise. My old ship would have buckled and rattled as we approached the gravity well, even if there was no atmosphere, but this Federal Dropship cruised smoothly down. I guessed the ‘dropship’ part of the name was there for a reason.

Forfait Installation poked out of the inhospitable rock, a black smudge beside a large crater. When we were 30 kilometers away, Toshiro instructed me to reduce speed and hold off in a hover pattern outside its security range. The turret arrays brought back memories of my previous unsuccessful attempts at poking planetary installations. The combat drones zipping about around the installation were just icing on the cake of dread in front of me.