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Halvorsen nodded grimly. "Not directly, although it's likely they'll do it through a quiet back-channel. Alterra does have its squeaky-clean public image to uphold. My best guess is that Torgaljin Corp might act as a discreet intermediary for hiring one of the off-world merc outfits. Plausible deniability. Any... adverse outcome would be perfectly untraceable to either party, of course."

I reached out to shake Jens' hand, deftly palming off the storage chip I had held concealed.

"Precisely. That's why I've prepared this Mempak. If we don't make it back to Terra, hand this over to Confederation Judicial. There's more than enough dirt in there to bury both Corps. Murder, piracy, collusion with a declared competitor, conspiracy to exploit the resources of an unclaimed M-class planet, unlawful detention and presumed torture of sentient alien life forms, illegal research and manufacture of alien pathogens. That's a fair catalogue of sins. Let's hope they won't add to it."

Given the transit times involved, I conjure that we could be jumped anywhere between Procyon and the Kuiper Belt. That's a fair span of unfriendly space to traverse. If we can make it to Tannhäuser Gate in one piece, Confederation patrols might provide a measure of deterrence and hopefully, some active protection. To be honest, I'm not counting on anyone springing to our defence if things do turn ugly. No skipper worth their salt would charge blindly into a firefight without knowing precisely who the villains are, although the line of distinction can be a wee bit vague in some sectors. That seemingly defenceless long-hauler being mobbed by a swarm of Colonial fighters might be infested with Kharaa or the fighters could be stolen, piloted by a local Jacker clan. Either way, if you make a bad judgement call on a snap decision, you lose. You never really know until the dust has settled. Even though it sounds utterly callous, the most sensible thing to do is hang back at a safe distance and wait for a reasonably convincing distress call.

If push does come to shove, there's little doubt Borealis would tear any would-be aggressor a new one, then fly clean through the hole. In addition to ten mass-driver turrets and enhanced shielding based on Precursor technology, she also carries six phased-plasma cannons and a radial array of hypervelocity sand-casters to confound any inbound missiles. That's roughly equivalent to a Confederation cruiser's armament. Naturally, we're legally obliged to disarm most of these weapons before we enter the Terran Core sector. Asteroid deflection systems only. Civilian vessels armed with military-grade ship killers are generally frowned upon in civilized space.

Our standard operating procedure is to treat all unknown ships in visual range as potentially hostile. If our hailing calls go unanswered, the alert level in Borealis will jump up a notch. If a vessel maintains an approach vector without clearly stating its intentions, it will be automatically targeted. Our red-zone perimeter is set at 50 kilometres. Once a ship crosses that boundary without making any attempt to establish communications with Borealis, its crew may even have the momentary satisfaction of firing the first shot. If I'm feeling particularly charitable at the time, I might advise them to evacuate their vessel before we return the compliment.

As we walked back to our table, Héloise cast a critical eye over my breakfast selection.

"Isn't that a bit over the top? I can live with the orange juice, but steak and eggs for breakfast?"

"Not at all, Dear Heart. In fact, it's a traditional astronaut's breakfast. Pure protein, low residue."

"Hmm... Far too heavy for my liking. Still, I wouldn't mind some of those mushrooms on toast."

"Nae problem, Lass. Consider it done." I set my tray down on the nearest table, then headed back to the autogalley. After a couple of steps, I turned around suddenly. As expected, I caught Héloise with a stolen slice of mushroom raised halfway to her lips. Our eyes locked. She smirked triumphantly, popping the morsel into her mouth without the slightest flicker of remorse.

There's an electric feel to the atmosphere in The Zeppelin Lounge this morning. Conversations are loud, lively and for the most part, good-natured. A rough headcount reveals that almost 80 per cent of the ship's company are dining here today, rather than the customary anarchic scattering of folks throughout the ship at this time of day. I conjure many of them are here to witness a parting of the ways between Halvorsen and me, indisputable proof that the voyage home is about to begin.

Halfway through a second mug of tea, I activated my PDA. "Right Jens, let's take a gander at those poor wee bairns you've dumped on my doorstep." Our first contestant is Mohan Chandra, a first-year engineering cadet. Fresh out of Alterra's sausage machine... Sorry, 'Mercantile Fleet Academy', he signed on with the Carl Sagan, presumably aiming to fast-track his career.

With a solid academic record behind him, Mohan stood a reasonable chance of making his way up the totem pole. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely prepared for the harsh realities that beset a lowly Gremlin on a daily basis. When you're the new face in ship's company, all past achievements are automatically reset to zero. You may have been a stellar performer on the ship systems simulators dirt-side, but that doesn't count for a Gasopod's fart out here in The Black. The very least that is expected of a Gremlin is to do what you're told, and do it to the best of your ability. Sure, it's often menial work of the worst kind at first, but a willingness to get your hands dirty occasionally will significantly improve your lot in life. A simple truth that Mohan has apparently failed to grasp.

this is really cool. i wish we had the large room and the possibilities with the glass domes in the old subnautica

I have the same Problem! The last Update is the problem. Bevor the Update it was ok