The smoke in the bar was so thick that Marcus could almost cut it. It swirled around in slow ambling spirals, illuminated by flashing spotlights and projections of semi-naked dancers. It burned his throat, and that alone made the wait difficult. The smell, however, made it unbearable. The stench of alcohol mixed with sweat and vomit was enough to make him gag, but he knew that if this contact came through, it would all be worth it.

All he could do was sip his bitter, green drink and refresh his news feed for the umpteenth time even though there was no signal this far into the rock of the space station. The futility of it felt like an apt metaphor for his efforts to get back to Sophia and Lio.

It took all his self-control not to scan the crowd again, for he couldn't risk drawing the bouncers' attention. It was suspicious enough that he was there, hunched over a table in the far corner, away from the pulsating mass of bodies writhing on the dance floor or the hordes trying to push through and get to the bar itself. The last thing he needed was someone thinking he was here for some nefarious purpose--which of course he was.

After what felt like hours, he saw a familiar figure limping towards him, drink in hand. She pushed back her hood as she neared the table, revealing her scarred face and mass of unkempt curly black hair. Chase had never been one for presentation.

"Marcus Fenig." She lowered herself into the seat in front of him, drink in hand. "You know you stick out like a sore thumb lurking here?"

"Did you find the contact?" Marcus didn't want to stay in this godforsaken bar a moment longer.

"Straight to business, that's what I like about you." She took a long sip of her bright violet drink.

"Chase, please." He couldn't bear the thought of another rambling smuggling job that would take him even further from home.

"You're good at what you do. You haven't been caught, you're always on time. I'll be sad to end our working relationship."

His heart skipped a beat. "Does that mean--"

She leaned back in her chair. "A deal is a deal. But stop and think about this for a minute."

"Oh, come on! I can handle it."

"This isn't just some job. You're talking about running the blockade of Caxis. That system is sealed tighter than an Alliance Mediator's lips."

"I know that system better than anyone--"

"No." She held up a hand. "You can't fool me. You're just desperate." Chase looked at him over her glass.

"Yes," he said. There was no point in denying it. "I'm that desperate." If he didn't survive, it was better to be dead than live life without Sophia and Lio.

She frowned at him, her eyes fixed on his, but he knew he couldn't look away. Finally, she nodded. "A deal is a deal. It's your life."

"Thank you." He sagged in relief.

"The details." She offered him the inside of her wrist.

Marcus obliged, pulling up his sweat-stained sleeve and pressing his wrist against hers to complete the connection. He expected a flood of information to surge into his consciousness but instead there was just a name and a place: The Whisper, the Den'

He knew the Den, of course. Everyone did. It was a refuge for the more lawless side of the Arm. He had made a delivery there once. It would be easy enough to get there, but he didn't know whether he should.

"The Whisper?" He stared at her. "What am I meant to do with that?"

Chase laughed. "Do you not know who they are?"

"Am I meant to?" He wanted to scream in frustration but had to hold it together. All these jobs, all this time, for nothing.

"They're a terrorist--freedom fighter. If you weren't stuck in your goddamn ship the whole time maybe you'd notice."

A terrorist? Was that too far? "Why do I need to meet a terrorist? I thought this contract was about delivering a message to--"

"Delivering that message means committing treason. Who else do you think would want to hire a courier?" She laughed again before downing her drink. It was nearly full. "Good luck, Fenig -- and if you ever make it off Caxis and want to make some extra money on the side, you know how to get in contact." Chase pulled her hood up and walked away into the fog of the bar.

For the first time he had doubts about making it home.

Marcus finished his own drink, steeling his resolve.

He would do whatever it took to see them again.

Even if that meant travelling halfway across the Arm to meet with a terrorist who needed a courier to run the Caxis blockade. Worst case scenario, he would be killed. Best case, he would be caught and executed for treason.

Whatever it took.

#

The flight out of the Candover system was uneventful. The lanes may have made space travel far easier and quicker, but it didn't leave him a lot to do other than guide his ship into the figure-of-eight shaped satellite that then propelled him forward, away from the station and the gas giant behind.

He sat in the cockpit of his small bank leased transport, the Compound Interest. He wasn't watching the viewport at the fore of the cockpit that showed the satellites of the lanes as they shot past; nor was he looking at the readouts being displayed on his own terminal in front of him. Instead, his gaze was on the picture frame showing a short 30 second video of his wife and son--Sophia and Lio.

Tears filled Marcus' eyes as their smiling faces beamed at him, waving to the camera against the backdrop of the forested green hills of their homestead on Caxis.

He could picture it now if he closed his eyes.

If Caxis hadn't seceded, he would already be back with them. But without warning, three months ago they had. The Alliance hadn't expected it, but that didn't stop their response being swift and firm.

By the time the news had filtered through the net, the Alliance warships were already on their way to create a blockade around Caxis to 'encourage' the planet to rejoin the Alliance.

Marcus took a deep breath to try and calm down and made his way to the small living space behind the cockpit that doubled both as a workspace and a kitchen. He could reconstitute a meal or stream a movie, but he wasn't in the mood for either. Idleness bred gloominess, so he knew he needed a problem to work through.

Marcus brought up the package of information Chase had provided him. He wasn't surprised to find she hadn't given him any information on what the message was Chase wanted through the blockade. She had instead instructed him to travel to where he would get the message--the Cavern, within the Vale.

"Computer, can you bring up a route from my current location to the Vale?" Marcus had set up the Interest's AI to have a voice interface. It wasn't standard, but he needed someone to talk to.

"Working."

The route displayed on the screen crossed half the width of the Perseus Arm. It was a journey that would take him days.

Beneath the route to the Vale there was a second journey plotted. It was the route back home to Caxis that he had plotted before the secession, and Marcus had left it on as a reminder. That way, any other route he went he could always see how far away from Caxis he was. Though this journey to the Vale would take him away from Sophia, he knew it would be worth it if he could make it back.

Marcus began trying to work out why a package from the Vale was being sent to Caxis, but then he changed his mind. He had a rule about never digging too much into the assignments Chase gave him. She had assured him it wasn't good for his long term health.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his back. It would be a long journey so he thought he had better get comfortable. One meal later, and with the faint smell of reconstituted bacon lingering in the cabin, Marcus powered down the ship's systems, isolated its storage units for protection, and used the manoeuvring thrusters to guide the Compound Interest towards the gate at the edge of the Candover system.

The gate opened before him revealing the churning blue clouds of jumpspace that spelt the end of any electrical systems more complicated than a few switches. It's why banks hired couriers like him to send messages.

#

A day later, Marcus was in the bowels of the ship working on the ledger of financial transactions he was due to send out in the Kipyat system. He needed maintain the illusion of being a bank courier while working for Chase to keep his ship. Just as he was about to send the transmission, the Interest's proximity alarm went off. Marcus ran through the ship, kicking aside the rubbish from yesterday's meal, and jumped into the chair in the cockpit and brought the controls up. "Computer--who's out there?"

"Alliance cruiser Mandrake requesting transmission link."

Marcus accepted the request. The Alliance was barely better than thieves in his book, but there was no sense in trying to avoid their message given their jurisdiction. A helmeted face appeared in the viewport's corner.

"This is Marcus Fenig of the Compound Interest, Nagasaki Bank Courier vessel. Is there anything wrong?"

"Compound Interest, this is Commander Garrick Karn of the Alliance military. Please submit your credentials for inspection." With the helmet on all Marcus could see was the man's mouth, which was already curled into a sneer.

"With all due respect, Commander Karn, I'm on a tight deadline here."

"We're the Alliance, Mr Fenig. Submit your credentials or your ship will be boarded."

Marcus muted his microphone and swore. He transmitted the ship's identification, manifest and his own documentation.

There was silence on the line as he waited for Commander Karn.

"Computer, can you do a scan of the Mandrake?" He kept his voice to a whisper even though he knew Karn couldn't hear him.

"It's a Titanic class Alliance warship, complement of over a thousand crew, and capable of travelling at point one of the speed of light without the use of the lanes."

"Well there's no outrunning them then." It was a stupid idea, anyway.

"Mr Fenig." Karn came back, his mouth showing even more of a sneer than before. "Your documents suggest that you're from the planet Caxis? Is that an error?"

Marcus sighed. "No, that's correct."

"And you haven't renounced your citizenship?"

"I wasn't aware that was required." Silence on the other end of the line. "I am still an Alliance citizen, I mean I work for Nagasaki Bank for goodness' sake, I'm a courier."

"Irrelevant, Mr Fenig. Do not flee or we will destroy you."

Marcus punched his console and dropped the connection. This was the last thing he needed, some trigger happy Alliance nationalist trying to make a bold statement. He ran back into the living space, picking up the remains of that day's meal and shoving it down the recycler.

He started to try to clean off some encrusted food stains on his shirt, but realised with a pang he had something else to do. "Computer--wipe the route to the Vale". He took a deep breath. "And the one home... to Caxis."

"Plans deleted."

That was that then, symbolic link to Sophia severed.

He didn't have time to dwell on that. The Compound Interest jolted from the contact of another ship attaching to its docking port. Marcus grabbed a bulkhead to steady himself.

The airlock began chirping to confirm a solid seal, and that someone was requesting to come aboard.

With trepidation, Marcus opened the airlock and a squad of Alliance officers piled into the Interest, barging him down to the floor. "Hey!" he shouted.

"Get to your feet." The man with the sneer--Karn--pointed his rifle at him. "I won't ask you again."

With a theatrical sigh, Marcus climbed to his feet only for Karn to grab him and thrust him into the living space where two of his soldiers stood, one short woman with bronze skin and dark hair, the other with a cybernetic eye shining out against his pale complexion giving him an eerie aura. "Now, would you mind explaining to us what your relationship to the planet Caxis is?"

"I told you already, Commander, I was born on Caxis, yes, but I am an employee of Nagasaki Bank, and I have the right to travel across the Alliance just like everyone else."

The female officer moved forward to scan his wrist. "Nothing of note here, Commander. Nothing much at all in fact."

"Interesting." Karn folded his arms.

Marcus tried to keep Karn's stare, but it was too intense.

"Mr Fenig, we're looking for a fugitive seen in the New Pacific system. This particular fugitive seems to have a modded wrist link. Is yours modded, Mr Fenig?"

"I--"

"There's no evidence of modding, Commander. There is something odd about all this though." The woman moved past Marcus into the room housing the banking equipment.

"I agree," Karn said.

"There's nothing to suggest he is the Whisper though." Another soldier came through from the cockpit area, this one had close cropped dark hair and looked young even to Marcus.

Marcus' stiffened. They were looking for the Whisper.

Commander Karn looked annoyed. "Nothing is as it appears, Mr Shaw."

"Still," the dark-haired man--Shaw--said. "His records show he hasn't been to the New Pacific in years. The ship's ID also doesn't match any from the gate."

A flicker of hope rose within Marcus. He didn't know why this Shaw seemed happy to disagree with Karn, but maybe he would get out of this. "Which I could have explained if you had just let me speak--"

"There were certain discrepancies from the information you provided," Karn said.

"You mean I was born on Caxis."

Karn's nostrils flared. "Caxis is a rogue state that has been declared an enemy of the Alliance. That status give us the right to search nationals of Caxis when necessary."

"I may be from Caxis, but I am an employee of an Arm-wide bank. Any delays to my duties will be recorded and billed to your ship. You can see I am not the man you're looking for, so if that is all, please get off my ship."

The other three soldiers froze and waited to see what Commander Karn would do. Marcus knew it was a risk, but few people wanted to pick a fight with a bank. Sure enough, Karn motioned his officers to leave the ship.

"I'm putting this ship on record, Mr Fenig. You may work for Nagasaki Bank, but if I or any other Alliance vessel suspects illegal activity is taking place, it will be confiscated and you will be arrested and tried as a war criminal."

"Commander, you don't have to worry. I wouldn't dream of doing anything illegal."

The hatch closed, and he slid down a bulkhead in relief.