… from the frying pan into the fire

Vin glanced over at the warning from Nocti again.  It looked like some unscrupulous smugglers had been at it again, dumping unwanted biowaste on Hutton’s stations in the hopes that no one would notice.

Oh, we had noticed about a minute after the smell hit the admin office.  Stank to high heaven (and back a bit).  Worse than cubicle 3.

The Hutton Truckers were locked in a war for their next system – Kappa-1 Ceti.  It looked to be going well, though the conflict zones were a long flight away from the jump in point.

A number of commanders had dropped by the station outfitter to upgrade their Pythons and Anacondas with new ship kits, personalising their ships to within an inch of the ridiculous.

Of course, purple paint didn’t count as ridiculous – well, at least not when you were colourblind.

“Besides,” though Vin, “Purple suits the Shady Lady perfectly.”

So – the warning.  What had started as a bad smell was rapidly turning into an outbreak.  The local population, already susceptible to MODS despite our best efforts, had come down with a mixture of something resembling either dysentry or the morning after a bad curry – this had blocked the plumbing and from there… well, hazmat suits were now the fashion accessory of choice.

The solution? Other than plumbing? Advanced medicines – the kinds that left you clean inside and out and were rumoured to even re-grow lost limbs.  Lael (the Hutton mission mistress) had put forward significant cash reserves to pay for them, meaning commanders could make some serious profits.  If only we could get this damned war out of the way.

“Sod this. Stick time,” said Vin to no one in particular.  He headed for the docking bay and the Shady Lady’s garish, but as of yet un-modified hull.

 

 

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