The stars in outer space pay no attention to the meteors, comets and spacecraft that pass silently through the vast gaps between them, and as with any other time they were oblivious and completely indifferent to a small ship named Nordic Troll sailing silently though the darkness.

Sitting in this ship’s cockpit, her captain, one Nick Gerrin, stared out at the permanent night sky, shifting his eyes occasionally back to the instrument panel providing the only light in the small space.

For the time being he preferred it that way, as it allowed him to consider the current job, if it could be called that. Take a gangster named McMillan from an outer world planet and drop him off as far from that planet as possible. In the process he also had to find a referred contact who might be able to help him with a small package that had been dumped in his lap a few months ago. This particular package had been burning a hole in his hull for too long, as it contained some sensitive material that the Alliance might want back.

He had told his crew earlier about the plan for this particular job: get in, dump McMillan someplace remote, find the contact, get the information, and get back to the planet where half of his crew were sitting this job out. “Shouldn’t take but a day or two”, he had told them. Somehow, they hadn’t looked all that convinced.

A knock from the back of the cockpit shook Gerrin out of his ponderance. He looked back to see his regular pilot, Wayloo Marie “Loomie” Gavigan, stepping carefully into the cockpit. “How’s it going?” she asked tenuously.

“Shiny”, Gerrin replied without sounding too standoffish.

“Good”, she replied awkwardly. Hesitantly she continued “Can we talk?”

“’Bout what?”

“Well, y’know”, Loomie stumbled over the words, “Back there”. She gestured behind her.

Gerrin stared for a second, not knowing