“One hour of turret work. That’s it. No questions, no details, just one million credits for some crew. First come, first serve.” The bar erupted into laughter. “Easier ways to commit suicide mate!” the man near the entrance said, summing up the general attitude of the bar as he turned back to his drink. “Offer stands until we’re crewed, we launch as soon as we’re ready.” the man continued, unperturbed. “Hangar 08.” With that he turned on his heel and marched back out the still-swinging door, ignoring the laughter that echoed out after him. I absent-mindedly rocked my mostly-empty glass back and forth on the bartop in front of me, tongue firmly planted in one cheek as I fought my way through a bit of a haze to consider considering the offer. Any other day of the week I’d have laughed him off with the rest of the bar but today… on my last few credits… nearing the end of the glass as it was… “I know that look.” a relatively gruff female voice barked from behind the bar at me, loud and sharp to be heard over the music, honed by years (decades?) of practice but not unkind stirred me. “Know what comes next?” I looked up over my glass expectantly. She met my gaze without hesitation, fiery brown eyes framed by equally brunette curls over a sturdy, no-nonsense frame that could toss your ass out if you crossed her. I’d seen her do it. “Nothin’. They don’t come back.” she leaned back against the counter behind the bar, folding her arms. “It’s called too-good-to-be-true for a reason Rana.” I nodded slowly, contemplating. Digesting. “You want me to keep buying your drinks?” She rolled her eyes. “Shit, and here I thought you were smart enough to listen.” I shrugged. “Broke enough to be hard of hearing.” “Drunk and desperate’s no time to be making business decisions.” she tried once more. I nodded. “Tried sober and desperate. Didn’t work out too well either."