1:13

Claws goes down with more dignity than you would have. You’re surprised. Not a lot of dignity to go round these days. Kaliff is already hurrying in the last of the crates. You leave him to it. Your head’s spinning and you don’t know if it’s just from the blow. You reach up to investigate the back of your head, half expecting to find a hard edge of broken bone, but it’s just matted blood and hair. Survivable.

You look down and see that Claws’ blood has begun to pool around one of your boots. Your stomach clenches. You taste the vodka climbing the back of your throat. With some effort you hold onto your liquid lunch.

All things considered, it could have gone worse. You ease your knuckles off your aching fingers. You’re going to have little ring-shaped bruises for days now. They’re a good sign. They’re a sign that you’re still alive, and some other poor bastard isn’t.

Back on the ship and Kaliff isn’t wasting time. No idea how connected those fuckers were. The docking clamps are released almost before the ramp is up, and you nearly hit the deck as he accelerates away. You struggle over to the co-pilot’s chair, sinking into it and strapping in.

Any time you feel like explaining, you say. You just feel free.

What’s the point? I can’t remember everyone who wants me dead. I’m a busy man.

You didn’t think it might be worth mentioning all the same?

Did you come into this under the impression that I am blessed with a great many friends? That we would be able…