Starlight Nemesis

Prologue

1.
Yor was a garbage dump of a city, a blight on the otherwise gleaming world of Taurica. Every building, from the sprawling apartment complexes to the once proud skyscrapers, looked as though they had been assaulted in some long ago battle and never repaired. Windows were cracked, roads were pitted with holes, and trash of all kinds littered the streets. If not for the seething mass of people, one would assume that Yor was abandoned.
Rain came down in heavy sheets, and only a handful of people on the sidewalks seemed to notice. Most continued to slowly amble along, or simply sit in the squalor around them, drinking and talking.
Captain Nathan Reynolds curled his lip in disgust as he descended further into the city. The rain somehow made him feel even grimier, and despite being inside his car, he was certain he could smell the hot sweat and garbage around him.
After an interminable amount of time, the gps in his car alerted him that he had arrived at his destination. He slowed down and squinted out into the rain soaked darkness, attempting to confirm this. Neon blues and pinks from billboards shone off of what lay ahead of him, and he pulled off to the closest curb and parked.
As he got out of the car, he quickly covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, then surveyed the scene. Ahead of him, illuminated only by the massive signs in the sky above, was a fleet of personal spaceships. Each one had a unique look, some much older than others, and several appeared completely grounded.
Reynolds put his hand on the F pistol at his side as he recognized two different gang symbols emblazoned on the side of ships. No one seemed to be around, and it was unlikely that they would give Reynolds a second look anyway, but he lived by being better safe than sorry.
At long last, he saw what he had been sent to find. A ship, in fair condition, oval shaped and colored a sleek gray and dark blue color. Like most ships of its type, it reminded Reynolds of an enormous fish, the embedded viewport on its front resembling a wide, half open mouth. There were two fins on either side, and a large elongated fin running across the top. Just above both of the side fins were twin cannons, clearly attached much later in the ship’s life. Emblazoned on the side was the name “St. Rita”. The patron saint of lost causes, or so he had read in his report.
He approached the opening on the underside of the ship, spotted the camera that was embedded, then waved.
“I’m Captain Nathan Reynolds.” he called. “I’m here to speak with you about a job.” There was nothing but the sound of rain hitting the chromium metal of the ships around him and the far off voices of Yor’s denizens at first. He sighed in annoyance, cleared his throat, and was going to repeat himself when the distinct sound of depressurization filled the air. A rectangular opening appeared on the underside of the ship, and a small ladder was lowered down to the ground. Reynolds climbed up at once, shaking the water from his hair and suit as best he could.
He was greeted by a surprisingly warm and cozy interior. It was about the size of a single bedroom apartment, and had a small kitchen area in one corner, and a small bedroom area in another. There were two doors on either side of him, which he guessed led to a bathroom and then the control room and engine room or something similar.
A woman stood in the kitchen area, chopping mangos with a large knife. She was tall, about 6’4” by his estimation, and in excellent shape. She had shoulder length hair that was a light green color, and was wearing a simple pink tank top and matching sweatpants. She had a very prominent nose and cheekbones that could have cut the fruit just as well as the knife she was using. She turned to look at him, brown eyes flashing underneath thick, black eyebrows.
“You’re here to offer me a job?” she asked, her voice more feminine than he had expected, but her speech pattern was clipped, almost military-like. He nodded and took a step forward.
“Yes.” he said. “I’m here on behalf of Lord Julian Way and the Taurican Imperium.” The woman gave no reaction to this, and instead went back to cutting fruit.
“I figured.” she said. “Your suit, and the way you carry yourself. Yeah. You marine?” Reynolds shook his head once.
“Star Force pilot,” he said. She simply nodded, but said nothing else. He cleared his throat, then continued to give her the message he had been sent to deliver. “Two weeks ago, a military research facility was attacked, and several sensitive items were stolen. The investigation that followed revealed that the attackers were likely a band of pirates, working for a local pirate lord. They were located, and a highly trained team was sent to retrieve the stolen items and bring the pirates to justice.” Reynolds paused, emotion briefly overtaking his professionalism. “The team did not return. A few days ago, Command received this.” He pulled out a hard copy of a photograph. The woman took her time putting the knife in the sink and washing her hands before she approached him and took the photo. She seemed to have no reaction to it, and Reynolds contained his bafflement.
“Was it signed?” she asked. Reynolds blinked.
“The photograph?” he asked. She nodded, then sauntered over to the kitchen counter, and picked up a slice of mango. “The message was clear.” She popped the slice into her mouth and chewed.
“No,” she said. “What was clear was that your team is dead. But if you lost contact and they never returned, that would’ve been enough. They didn’t need to send you a picture of their severed heads.” Reynolds winced. “They did it to gloat. Usually, if they’re gloating, they’ll send a message, or at least sign it.”
“There was no other communication,” Reynolds stated. The woman looked him up and down, then grabbed another slice of fruit and ate it.
“Why the fuck are you leaving out so much information?” she asked. Reynolds was briefly taken aback by the coarse language.
“I am delivering the message as it was-” before he could finish she waved her hand dismissively and walked away to grab a paper bowl.
“What’s the job?” she asked with a heavy sigh.
“Command, by order of Lord Julian Way, requests that you retrieve the stolen items and take care of the pirates and their leaders,” he said.
“How much?” she asked, dumping the remaining fruit in the bowl.
“A substantial, but fair, amount of sixteen thousand Imperial Credits,” he said. He had been told specifically to start at sixteen, then offer up to thirty if she refused. He felt confident that she would refuse at first, as sixteen was not substantial or fair for the job being offered.
“No,” she stated plainly. A grin tugged at his lips.
“Command can offer you-” he began, but she cut him off.
“Thirty-one is the lowest I’ll go,” she said, putting the bowl in the fridge next to her. Reynolds blinked again, and was unsure what to do next. Eventually, a wry grin crossed the woman’s face.
“Command never changes,” she said. “Always start at sixteen, then go up to thirty. For fuck’s sake.”
“It is protocol for dealings with bounty hunters,” he said, deflating slightly. “Which, you would know, of course.”
“Of course,” she said. “Now tell me the rest. Pretend I accepted the thirty, and tell me where these pirates are holed up and what I’m taking back from them.”
“Apologies,” Reynolds said, “but I don’t have clearance to do that. I was just meant to offer you the job, then money, and take you back to Command.” The bounty hunter gave him a curious look, one thick eyebrow raised.
“That’s weird,” she said, then shrugged. “The answer is no, regardless.” Reynolds was once again left feeling as if he had been pushed off of his track.
“No?” he asked. “You won’t do the job?”
“No,” she repeated, then moved over to him in long, confident strides that caused him to walk back. “And I’ll tell you why. Because I hate your fucking Taurican Empire, your Lord Julian Way, your Command, and you. I do jobs for anyone that can pay my rate, except the fucking Imperium. You could give me a billion credits and I’d still tell you to fuck off.” Somewhat stunned, Reynolds shook his head.
“But-” he started, but the sound of the floor opening behind him stopped him.
“But nothing, get off of my ship,” she said, then turned away. He had not been given orders for this possibility. His superiors had been certain that she would just take the money, and at the time, so had he. She was a bounty hunter, after all. As the ladder fell down behind him, he knew he had to do something drastic. He could not go back to Command having failed.
“The pirate lord is Armitage Brine,” he said, defying his orders. He had the information, but he had not been cleared to give it out to anyone, including the bounty hunter. But, he knew it might be enough to convince her. She stopped moving, then turned back to him, her eyes blazing.
“Brine?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Armitage Brine, dead, for thirty thousand Imperial Credits.” She looked at him for a long while, her gaze piercing through him.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go to Command.”

2.
Kate Kobiyashi’s eyes went wide and she held in a gasp as she walked into the meeting room. Space pirates, smugglers, and outlaws of all types were crowded together, many sitting at the tables scattered around, but some standing with their backs against the walls, and all of them warily eyeing everyone else in the room. It was a somewhat cramped space, the walls and floors both made of durable metal, but old and scuffed, with no decorations of any kind. The only source of light came from three overhead fixtures that buzzed loudly, even with the noise of all the people.
Over a hundred pairs of eyes turned to Kate as she entered, but only briefly, and she was thankful for that at least. She wasn’t the one everyone wanted to see, she was just another of the hundreds convinced or coerced to come to the literal edge of the galaxy.
She moved past a few pirates, and found a spot against a wall and close to the door. She ran a hand through her wild mop of red hair, then crossed her arms to stop them from shaking. Vainly, she tried to convince herself that all she was feeling was nervous energy. Nearly everyone in the room was on edge, and for good reason. Kate could plainly see three different rival pirate groups, staring daggers at one another. There were two smugglers that Kate recognized, whispering to one another, and nodding not at all inconspicuously at a mercenary only a few feet from them, whom Kate was sure had killed the smugglers’ father only three years before. In addition to the personal rivalries and vendettas in the room, there were also various alien species that had long standing racial tensions with each other, as well as humans.
“Welcome to Thule,” said a voice that cut through the air like a jagged knife. All eyes, including Kate’s, turned to the door to see the person they had been waiting on. “I hope you’re all as comfortable as can be expected here.”
Armitage Brine smiled wide, a sinister act with a mouth full of razor sharp fangs. Kate had never seen the famed pirate lord up close, and she was immediately impressed. He was an Icthyoid, and as such taller than most humans. His skin was a light teal color, scars decorating both his arms like tattoos. Fins were visible on both of his arms, and his webbed fingers ended in pointed claws. Brine’s head was the least humanoid part of him, as it was vaguely v-shaped, with rough ridges leading down to his large yellow eyes. He wore a very simple outfit; tight armored pants and a black leather vest.
He sauntered through the crowd towards the center of the room, the outlaws parting for him with obvious unease. He stood, large eyes scanning the room with pleasure, but said nothing else.
“What the hell are we doing here, Brine?” barked an old pirate at a table. The sudden question nearly made Kate jump. She pulled her arms tighter against her chest. Brine smiled even wider as he looked at the old pirate.
“You know what you’re doing here,” Brine said, then he waved his long arms around, motioning to everyone in the room. “I sent you all a message to come here, meet with me and my crew, and together we’ll wipe away the Taurican Imperium.” Kate remembered the message. It had been very convincing, and had come with a picture of murdered elite Taurican soldiers. The message, however, had not elaborated on anything else. Kate, and everyone else in the room, were just desperate and curious enough to have answered the call without any further information.
“How?” asked a smuggler.
“My crew and I stole some things,” he began, “They are pieces to a superweapon that the Imperium was planning to use to start another war.” He paused, and there was a deep silence in the room that only the buzzing lights broke. “My crew was decimated during the theft, and if I’m going to use this superweapon for all of us, I’ll need all of your help.” It was all starting to make sense to Kate. Brine was a legendary pirate, but he was no tech genius. A lot of the people in the room were, however, in some form or fashion. She herself was an engineer, and had built single-flier spacecraft and simple androids alone in the past. Add to the fact that she, and everyone else, was on the wrong side of the Imperium, and Kate could vaguely see what Brine had planned.
A young man sitting at a table was the first to speak.
“Fuck off,” he said, causing a few people next to him to slowly back away. He took no notice of this. “You’re about to have the entire Imperium coming at you, and you just want us to be your meat shields while you figure a way out. Everybody’s scared of you, because they’re a bunch of idiots. I’m not, and I’m not helping you with some bullshit attack plan against the biggest empire in the known universe.” There was another beat of silence and Kate realized she was holding her breath, before Brine reared back and let out a deep, guttural laugh. Everyone seemed to relax a bit, and Brine walked over to the young man, who hardly seemed amused.
“I have to deal with people who walk on eggshells around me all the time,” Brine said, still chuckling a bit. “But not you, eh? You’ll tell it like it is.” The young man grinned a bit at that.
“I’m glad you can respect that,” he said. Brine nodded, then theatrically motioned around the room.
“This here is a man without fear!” he announced, then turned back to the young man. “You know what they say about fear, don’t you?”
“What’s that?” he asked, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Brine viciously jammed two of his clawed fingers into the man’s neck. Kate did jump at this, but remained silent, and watched as Brine pulled the now skewered young man close.
“Fear is what keeps us alive,” he growled, then released him, his body convulsing horribly on the floor, blood spurting from the large holes in his neck.
“Is everyone else willing to at least hear the plan?” he asked, wiping the blood from his fingers on his pants. There were several nods, but most returned his question with just more silence. Brine seemed satisfied with that. “Good. Then let’s get to it.”

Chapter 1

Erin Norfair curled her lip at the sight of the front doors to Command. They were plain white, almost blindingly so, with the word COMMAND written in ugly block letters above them. Reynolds, moving with some little hesitation in his stiff military gait, pulled out a white card with a red barcode printed on it and held it up to the doors. Though the scanner wasn’t visible, it scanned his card all the same and the doors hissed as they parted open. Reynolds walked inside first, and Erin followed close behind.
She relished the looks of outright horror that she received from the white clad officers as she passed them by. She had refused to change clothes, knowing that Reynolds wouldn’t insist, and knowing that Command wouldn’t dare turn her away now that they had her. A chuckle escaped her throat as she followed Reynolds up the stairs, thinking about how she was going to meet with a Taurican general in her pajamas.
The dull, white surroundings were only occasionally broken by lower ranked individuals who hadn’t earned their pure white uniforms yet. They marched on either side, silent and obedient, but with black and brown trench coats, or dark blue polo shirt and khakis. Erin felt only a speck of sympathy for them, like she did with Reynolds in front of her, but ultimately she knew that they knew what they were doing. Perhaps they had bought the propaganda, or had been roped into joining for some genuinely noble reason, but once they were inside and saw how it all worked, then they knew. Likely they didn’t know the full extent of it, that the Taurican Empire was responsible for more horror in the universe than any other entity, but they knew enough.
After several minutes of walking through the blandest hallways and corridors in the galaxy, they at last came to another set of doors. This time, the hideous block letters above them read: GENERAL CROSS. Reynolds once more held up his card to be scanned, but this time after it had been, he announced,
“Captain Nathan Reynolds, sir. I’m here with the bounty hunter, Erin Norfair.” There was a pause, before the doors opened with a hiss, and the two walked inside. The room inside was fairly small, and like the rest of Command, ridiculously spartan. There were no pictures on the white walls, no windows, and only a single desk with a single chair and a single man.
He was an older man, possibly nearing sixty, with a deep set scowl on his face and piercing blue eyes. His buzz cut hair was gray, hidden underneath the standard white four point hat. Erin could tell immediately that he was no mere desk jockey, or businessman. This man was a soldier for life, had seen combat, and had seen it recently. He was visibly shocked when Erin first entered the room, but he beat it back and deepened his scowl.
“Erin Norfair,” he said in a voice that spoke of a lung injury, an instant explanation for why this fighter now sat here in Command. “I am honestly surprised to see that Captain Reynolds succeeded in bringing you here.” Erin didn’t care to engage in pleasantries or perfunctory dialogue, so she skipped right to the point.
“He told me the pirate lord is Brine,” she said, “I’m only interested in it for that reason and that reason alone. Give me the information, and the next news you’ll hear is either that he’s dead, or that I am.” General Cross gave a pointed look to Reynolds, who simply stared back nervously, his entire body rigid. Cross then looked back at Erin, cleared his throat with some difficulty, then said,
“We have protocols here, but I can appreciate someone wanting to get the job done. No matter the reason. Brine and his crew did something unprecedented. They broke into a military research facility and stole...pieces...of a weapon. We took out almost all of his crew, captured a few, but they died without giving up any information. Despite this, we were able to pinpoint his location. Thule, the edge of the galaxy. We sent our best men to take him out and bring back the, er, weapon pieces. They failed.” Cross stood up from his chair with some difficulty, and the skin on his face grew taut. “Miss Norfair, when I say we sent our best men, I am not being hyperbolic. These were well trained veteran soldiers, enhanced by cybernetics, and given the best tech we have. They should not have failed. A pirate and a handful of his crewmen should not have been able to do what they did.”
“But they did,” Erin said flatly. “Which I’d say means your men weren’t as good as you thought they were, but you think it was something else. You think Brine has some sort of advantage. The weapon he stole?” Cross flared his nostrils, but then shook his head.
“No,” he said, “He couldn’t have activated it without the other components. No, we believe that Brine has struck a deal with the natives of Thule.” Erin furrowed her thick brows.
“Thule is uninhabited,” she said slowly, realizing in the moment that this was, and apparently always had been, a lie.
“For the good of all, Lord Julian Way and Command deemed it best to withhold information about Thule and its inhabitants. At any rate, it was only quite recently that we learned the native life was sentient,” the general explained, as if he were reciting a memo that he had memorized. Erin sighed through her nose.
“Of course,” she muttered. “So, what are they like, that they could kill your best men? Or did they just have the element of surprise and a terrain advantage?” Cross nodded.
“Surprise and a terrain advantage, yes. Those certainly helped them.” he said, then paused, his expression growing somehow more grim than it had been. “But these things, sentient though they may be, are monsters. Huge, ugly, and our weapons couldn’t draw a drop of blood.”
“Monsters,” Erin said, only a hint of venom in her voice, “like the inhabitants of Titan?” Cross tensed, anger flashed across his deep lined face, but once again he held it back.
“Miss Norfair, regardless of your political opinions, Command has deemed you the best option now. Because of your past record as both a soldier and a bounty hunter,” he said, and Erin noticed Reynolds visibly react to the mention of her having been a soldier, “And because we believe a single person will have a better chance than a large military group.” Erin nodded.
“I agree.” she said, “Brine will be expecting something, but it won’t be me, alone. I’ll have an easier time evading the natives of Thule as well. I’m assuming you’ll give me all the information you have on the natives, and the most current topographical maps of Thule?”
“Correct.” Cross said, and slowly sat back down in his chair. “We will also assign someone to remain in contact with you throughout, to make certain all goes well.” Erin recoiled at this idea at first, then flicked her eyes to Reynolds.
“Alright,” she said, jerking her thumb to Reynolds. “If it’s him.” Both Cross and Reynolds appeared baffled by this.
“We will be the ones to assign-” Cross began, but Erin cut him off, delighting in the red rising to his face.
“It’s Reynolds or no one,” she stated with finality. The young man clearly wanted to protest, but his sense of protocol prevented him from speaking without being directed to by Cross. The general seemed to consider this carefully for a moment, then reluctantly nodded.
“Fine. Your contact will be Captain Nathan Reynolds,” he said. Erin gave a self-satisfied grin, and slapped Reynolds on the back.
“Great,” she said, “We’ll get everything set up, and I’ll start tomorrow.”

Chapter 2  

The F-Pistol was originally designed five decades ago, and quickly became the standard weapon of choice for criminals, pirates, bounty hunters, and the GPF. While they generally resemble the lazguns of the old world, their true innovation was the ammunition designed for them. Fire Pellets, a somewhat innocuous name, are small pellets packed with a unique chemical compound that violently explode when hit at high velocity. This, of course, meant that even being shot in the shoulder could prove fatal, or at the very least, cause the loss of a limb.
As a result, armor suits had become coveted and extremely expensive, especially with criminals and bounty hunters.
Which is one of the many reasons why Erin Norfair was considered one of the best in the business. The vast majority of criminals and bounty hunters could only afford, or build themselves, individual pieces of the armor suits. Solitary chest and back pieces were the most common, but legs, arms, and even lone helmets were also popular choices.
Erin had an entire suit. Over the course of a decade she had bought, built, and perfected it, and for the last few years had used it to make her already well-known name close to legendary. Climbing back aboard the St. Rita, Erin immediately strode across the kitchen area to the built-in cabinet that housed her weapons and armor suit.
“This is a bad idea, boss,” came a feminine, mechanized voice.
“Yeah, probably,” Erin replied nonchalantly. She input her passcode into the cabinet, and the heavy lock clicked open. “But you think most of my ideas are bad.”
“That isn’t true,” the voice said. “I would say approximately forty-three percent of your ideas are bad, that’s less than half.”
“I’ll have to try to be stupider, then,” Erin muttered as she pulled out a standard F-Pistol and inspected it.
“Going after Brine, working for the Taurican military, and doing it for thirty-thousand credits? Even one of those things would be objectionable,” the voice chided.
“What did you want me to do, Vic?” Erin asked, putting the pistol back and opening another compartment in the cabinet. This one contained the main pieces of her armor suit. She removed the helmet, a perfectly circular and clear plexi-steel orb set atop a dark purple chromium neck piece. Several thin strips ran up one part of the plexi-steel, perpendicular to each other, terminating at the top of the orb. Erin reached inside the helmet, and adjusted the strips slightly, frowning. “Need to get new inlays soon,” she murmured.
“I’ll set a reminder for you,” Vic said in a robotic monotone, then, in a more conversational tone, “And I wanted you to say no to that small man from the military. I wanted you to not take this revenge-fueled job.”
“Well,” Erin said, shoving the helmet back in the cabinet, then closing it entirely. “I did take it, and we’re doing this. It’s not just a revenge thing, I’m not doing it for me, I’m doing it for-” She stopped herself abruptly, then exhaled deeply through her nose. “I’m doing the job. We’re doing the job, okay? So just say ‘yes boss’ and let’s get this going.” There was an interminable pause, and Erin whipped around to look up at the main speaker in the ceiling, flaring her nostrils.
“Yes boss,” Vic responded in a monotone.
“Great,” Erin said, then clapped her hands together before striding over to the door that led to the pilot room. “A few things: first, I’m going to be in constant contact with a person from the Imperium for this job.”
“Is it the small man from earlier?” Vic asked.
“Yes, it is the- He’s not that small, he was about average,” Erin answered, knitting her thick eyebrows together as she input the passcode on the keypad for the door.
“Everyone looks very small next to you,” Vic said.
“Anyway, yes, it was the man in here earlier. Reynolds. He’s green and young, I figured he’d be better than whoever they had in mind at first.” Erin said as the door slowly opened with a long hiss.
“So you can just disconnect him whenever you feel like it, and not worry about him arguing with you too much,” Vic said, a phantom smile in her metallic voice. Erin pointed a finger at the ceiling and gave a single nod, then walked down the hallway. It was dimly lit by twin light fixtures that had lost their original luster years ago. Erin hadn’t bothered to replace them, and wouldn’t until they had gone out completely, as there was nothing in the unpainted, chromium halls that was worth looking at in the first place. There was a rug under her boots, put there only to keep the hallway from feeling like a metal box, but it was worn and ragged, and Erin thought the dim lights made it appear better off than it likely was at this point.
She opened the door to the pilot room proper and walked inside. It was a comfortable enough space, a large semi-circle with a massive viewport front and center, a control panel beneath it, and a C-shaped chair in front of that. The viewport was closed, metal shutters pulled over plexi-steel panels. There were posters, wrinkled and torn from being taken down and put up multiple times, adorning the free space on the walls not taken up by the viewport. They were of old movies, mostly musicals, but a few westerns as well.
Erin sat down heavily in the chair, the soft foam-like material wheezing as she did so. It smelled like faux-leather and cheap plastic, though it was one of the best starship pilot seats on the market.
“Vic, pull up the topographical maps of Thule, and the info on the inhabitants,” Erin said.
“Here they are, boss,” Vic responded, immediately followed by said maps and other info appearing on the viewport. Erin scanned the maps briefly, then scrolled through walls of pedantic text on the creatures that lived on Thule. She stopped short when she arrived at an artistic rendering of one of them. She whistled.
“This is not filling me with any greater hope of success for this job,” Vic said dryly.
“Yeah, holy shit,” Erin said, having only barely heard Vic as she continued to stare at the drawing. “Fuck Cross sideways, but I can see why he’d call these monsters.”
“The report says that they are intelligent. Sentient. Capable of speech and reason,” Vic said. “How was Brine not torn apart by them?” Erin shook her head, finally scrolling past the drawing.
“Don’t know,” she sighed, “maybe he had something they wanted.”
“What next?” Vic asked. Erin shifted in the chair and weighed several options in her mind.
“Next,” she said at last, crossing her legs, “we give Jonah Ellis a call. I need a small crew to at least get in the vicinity of Thule, no more than three, and Ellis owes me one.”
“A crew?” Vic asked in feigned surprise. “So you mean your plan wasn’t just to fly straight to Thule and launch yourself at Brine?”
“The direct approach is played out, don’t you think?” Erin asked with a half grin. “No, I’m going to use a strategy like one of those smart kids from brain school.”
“Wonders will never cease,” Vic said, “Calling Jonah Ellis now, boss.”
After nearly a minute, the maps and texts vanished from the viewport and were replaced by the head and shoulders of Jonah Ellis. He was an older man of about fifty, with a scraggly brown beard and mustache. He gave off the impression that the galaxy had kicked him in the face so many times that he was constantly expecting it to happen again, with his lips pulled into a tight line through his facial hair, and his eyes always squinting a bit. Erin was unsure if she had ever seen him in a relaxed position.
“Norfair,” he barked in a ragged voice. “What do you want?” Erin leaned forward, an easy smile on her face.
“Damn Jonah, right to business? Not even going to ask me how I’ve been?” she asked.
“You’re not dead and you’re smiling,” he said. “So you’re doing better than most. What do you want?”
“I’ve got a job, and I need a small crew. Just two or three. I’ll say up front that it’s for the Imperium, but the pay is good and you and whoever else will get thirty thousand of it to split,” she said.
“Boss,” Vic chastised. Jonah flinched at this, as if he had just caught sight of his favorite pet on the highway.
“You don’t do Imperium jobs,” Jonah responded, suspicion obvious on his tense face. “Who’s the bounty?” Erin steeled herself. She knew his reaction, but was fairly certain she could strong-arm him into helping her regardless. He was a pirate, and any worth their salt obeyed the pirate code.
“Armitage Brine,” she said, her smile evaporating. Jonah opened his mouth and rolled his head back.
“Brine!” he shouted, then looked back at Erin. “Norfair, I’m not coming with you to kill Brine, not for-”
“You owe me, Jonah, from the Pluto job,” She said forcefully. “You have to pay what you owe, and you’re getting a split of thirty from this, what’s the problem with-”
“I owe you for the Pluto job, but not like this,” he interrupted. “I don’t want to help you kill Brine, and I don’t want to get on board your ship, either.” Erin furrowed her thick brow. 
“Jonah, come on,” she said.
“No, Norfair, no. I won’t get back on that ship. That thing is...It’s ghoulish, is what it is.” He sighed, looking down, and Erin chose not to challenge him on his comment.
“You owe me, Ellis,” she said instead, enunciating every word. “Pay what you owe.” He looked back up, and sighed again, deeper this time.
“I owe you, yes,” he said. “I’ll pay, but not with my services. I know some pirates, three of them, they’ll be your crew for this job.” Erin scoffed.
“Three pirates I’ve never met? Jonah-” she started, but he cut her off again.
“They’re good at their jobs, and good company. They owe me, so I’ll pass them on to you. I wouldn’t send you a bad bunch, Norfair,” he paused, considering this, then said, “well, they’re a bad bunch, but in the way you need.” Erin leaned back in the chair and exhaled. The thought of working with three complete strangers- pirates on top of that- filled her with apprehension. Even with Jonah, a man she had known and worked with for years, she had expected a certain amount of potential problems. This would add too many variables, too many potential problems.
But she didn’t have a better idea.
“Okay,” she said, sounding as if someone was forcing her to agree. She could feel Vic’s silent judgment above her. “Send me their info, and let them know I’ll meet them at Baby Mo’s on Neo Barataria.” Jonah nodded, though he didn’t appear more relaxed.
“What time?” he asked. Erin waved a hand in the air flippantly.
“Tomorrow at eight, your time,” she answered, once again as if she were under duress.
“I’ll do it, and my debt is paid, Norfair,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, already forming contingency plans in her mind.
“Erin,” Jonah said suddenly, and she looked back at his wrinkled eyes. “Good luck.” She merely nodded, lips tight. The call ended, and Jonah vanished, leaving only the covered viewport behind.