Individually, they were smart, tough, and adaptable. Working together, as a unit…

Would they work together as a unit, though; that was the question? Would they? Could they? What would it take?

Torin was just as glad to be leaving them behind. Individuality at the expense of the group went against everything she'd believed her entire adult life. Once Vrijheid had been just another government station, but the mining operations it had been intended to support had been destroyed in the war, and the cartels had cut their losses rather than rebuild. When William Ponner arrived, the station had been stripped to bare bones personnel, waiting to be moved off its L5 point and folded through Susumi space to a new location. Rumor, stripped to bare bones, said he'd barely been there a tenday when he'd hacked a database and convinced the powers-that-be the station's orbit had decayed due to damage taken during the attack. That it had crashed into the planet, all hands lost.

Apparently, he'd even implanted records of the Navy's investigation.

Cho figured hacking the Navy took balls the size of small moons and only doing it once took more brains than were usually evident in the Human species as a whole.

William Ponner-Big Bill to his friends and everyone who used the station was either his friend or about to become a statistic supporting the dangers of living in space-had used balls and brains to create his own personal fiefdom. If a captain had cargo to sell, it could be sold at Vrijheid, no questions asked, fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a captain wanted to outfit his ship so that picking up new cargoes became a little easier, he could do that at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a crew wanted to spend their share of the money, they could do that, too. Sex, drugs, alcohol, high tech, low tech, and useless pretties that sparkled and shone. Fifteen percent to Big Bill. If a person with skills wanted to sell them to the highest bidder, no questions asked, they could sell those skills at Vrijheid. Fifteen percent to Big Bill.

He'd created a sanctuary for those who were tired of a Confederation designed to support the belief that the Elder Races' shit didn't stink. Humans, Krai, and di'Taykan almost exclusively-the so-called Younger Races who were treated by the government like they were too stupid or too unstable to be anything but cannon fodder-although every now and then, another race found a niche and filled it.

Cho gave the Ciptran standing by the entrance to the bar as much room as possible-the big bug made his skin crawl. Once inside, he crossed to join Nat and Doc at a table against the far wall. Although all races drank in the Sleepless Goat, the staff was predominantly Human, albeit Humans the universe had chewed up and spat out. No one ended up slinging drinks in a place like the Goat if they had options. Every server in the place showed the signs of one or more addictions, but Cho preferred it to any of the other dozen or so bars on the station. When he wanted a drink, he wanted a drink. Period. Not a proposition. Not meat pies that might have once had a name.

"Tyra's dead," he grunted, dropping into a chair. "Crazy old woman took a walk in vacuum about six tendays ago."

Doc drained his glass and held up three fingers to the server. "Her codes were so old, they probably wouldn't have worked anyway."

"We'll never know now."

Drinks arrived with a promptness that suggested the word had been passed on to new staff and the servers were keeping bloodshot eyes locked on Doc. No one wanted to be the one to tip him over. Not if the stories were true.

Most of them were.

"We need to take another fukking salvage operator alive," Nat growled, fingers curled and heading for her scalp. She scowled at Doc as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand back down to the table. "What?"

"It won't heal if you keep scratching it."

"It itches!"

They did need to take another salvage operator alive. Nat's declaration had been stupidly obvious but accurate for all of that. Cho took a long drink of his beer, then sat staring into the foam. Trouble was, most CSOs ditched their pens and ran the moment they figured out what they were facing, and oblivious idiots like Rogelio Page were few and far between. Not likely they'd get that lucky again.

"Cap."

Cho lifted his head slowly, acknowledging Nat's warning but not reacting to it. Half of the bar's clientele could literally smell fear, and all of them would take advantage of it.

Big Bill and the Grr brothers were heading toward the back of the bar. Once his destination became obvious, the noise level rose as the other patrons played nothing to do with me.

"Mackenzie Cho, as I live and breathe." Big Bill smiled widely, showing a lot of teeth. Given that his closest associates were Krai, teeth weren't exactly reassuring. He pulled the fourth chair out from the table, and sat, not caring that his back was to the room. Given that the Grr brothers were at his back, that wasn't even a little surprising.

Grr was not their actual name. Nor were they necessarily brothers. Both the Krai and di'Taykan in Cho's crew agreed they were male-the subtle differences in scalp mottling that made up Krai secondary sexual characteristics confused the hell out of Humans. More importantly, they were two of the nastiest sons of bitches in known space. Cho had once seen them eat a man's feet, totally ignoring the screaming.

That they barely came up to Big Bill's shoulders when he was sitting down didn't matter in the slightest. Even Huirre, who'd eaten a body part or two in his day, gave them a wide berth.

"Thanks, sweetheart." A beer and a shot appeared in front of Big Bill almost before he sat down. He smiled up at the server, tossed the shot back, set the glass back down on the table with an audible click, and smiled again. "We need to talk, Cho. People you're selling to are talking about how you're holding back, and today I find out that you've been asking after Tyra, bless her withered heart. What did you find out there between the stars?"

And why are you trying to keep it from me?

People who tried to keep things-or at least fifteen percent of things-from Big Bill on Vrijheid didn't live long.

The Grr brothers smiled.

Nat dug at her scalp again, and Doc tapped the edge of one thumb against the table. Cho felt a drop of sweat run down his back. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he hadn't kept anything from anyone. Things were being kept from him. "I can't talk about it here."

Let this lot of degenerates find out he had a Marine armory on board, and the fukking losers would be fighting over who got to try for it first.

Big Bill made a noncommittal noise that still managed to sound like a threat.

Dragging his tongue over dry lips, Cho added, "Let me show it to you."

Big Bill maneuvered the eye deftly around the armory in absolute silence, fingers ghosting over the surface of his slate. When he reached the CSO seal, he snorted. "Given what you told me of your captive's unfortunate death, I see why you were looking for Tyra. Not the sort of lock you can plug your slate into and have it run down the combination; salvage operators write in some bugfuk crazy layers. That said, you do realize Tyra's codes would have been too old to open this?"

"Her codes would have been a starting point for hacking the lock."

"Tricky." Big Bill nodded slowly. "But possible if you have someone sufficiently skilled."

"I have someone." Depending, of course, Cho qualified silently, on how much his thytrins had exaggerated young Nadayki's talents.

"Good." With the eye at full magnification, Big Bill examined every millimeter of the lock, then-after snapping his slate back onto his belt-turned and swept a critical gaze over Cho and his two companions. "If you actually manage to get that open, do you know what you have?"