Dr. Leasia handed him a tray and Liam scooped on a large helping of hash. Passing it down the line, one of the scientists adds a green cube of vitamins C and K. Hitman threw on a thin slab of grilled protein and handed the finished product to Blockade. The big man, draped in a sky blue top and white bell-bottom pants, leaned down and presented the finished product to a little round-faced girl who reminded Liam of the thousands of hungry urchins living in the bowels of the gridports. Those unfortunate mouths were the product of a system that made it almost too easy for a reluctant parent to exit a ship accompanied by a minor and board another alone, leaving the child to the responsibility of the station's authorities.

This one's parents weren't unscrupulous deadbeats, just unfortunate researchers too slow to escape before the hortisk pirates took over their facility. The possibility of the parents avoiding the cookpot was slim to none. The haunted look on the kid's face said she understood the gravity of her situation. It mirrored scores of similar looks worn by the researchers.

Dr. Leasia handed Liam the next tray and the next. The ship's crew and the Corgis Adar Tech refugees formed a chow line that stretched the length of the freighter's cafeteria and out the main door. The humming of the ship matched the somber feeling throughout the space. Thanks to the increased ship population, food was being rationed. Not that The Song Brothers lacked the supplies. The smugglers merely wanted to ensure the used stock would be recorded, itemized, and billed.

Pornim and Pi also put the scientist to work, having them staff the kitchen and the infirmary. Desperate, the doctor and her people were in no position to complain.

A handful did exactly that as they labored over hot stoves and chopped away at seemingly endless food prep. Not Dr. Leasia though. She worked dutifully on the chow line barely uttering a word during the previous hour.

"This isn't my first time on kitchen duty," Liam said, supplying mash for the next tray and passing it along. "Had a sergeant who loved to banish you to the kitchen when you got on his bad side."

The scientist beside him, a man with a prominent gut, scoffed.

"Better that than push ups and laps."

"That's what everyone always said, but they didn't know the cook. The man was a wiz with flavors, but he absolutely hated people. He'd rap you across the fingers with an antique wooden ladle for talking, laughing, moving too slow. I secretly believe he spent more time looking for an excuse to smash a finger than he did studying his dishes."

"Didn't people get fed up and strike back?" The scientist quickly cut the last row of vitamin gelatin into even blocks.

"Not many. Not only was he an officer, but anyone on his shit list was guaranteed protein paste sandwiches for every meal."

"That sounds horrible," Dr. Leasia said, finally joining the conversation.

"It was," Liam agreed. "But I learned how to make a few good dishes and, more importantly, I learned that even a low-stress task could be turned into a punishment."

"Do you think this is a punishment?" she asked, giving him a sidelong look.

"Actually, no. We're feeding your people and our fingers are still intact."

"At least there's that," chuckled the guy to Liam left.

The doctor studied Liam for a time. Smiling, he continued to serve food.

"The Songs didn't insist you work in the kitchen. Why give up your free time?"

"I had nothing else on my plate. Plus, who can deny a bit of nostalgia?"

"Or deny a chance to interrogate me," the doctor said. Her voice was calm and collected, and she seemed more intrigued than anything else.

"It isn't everyday you get to pick the brain of a geneticist." Liam smirked and stirred the mash before putting a ladleful on the next tray.

Dr. Leasia was still skeptical and he didn't blame her. He was lying, he'd spent months with a sadistic geneticist who reveled in the pain his research caused almost as much as he anticipated the potential results of his work. Scott, Liam, his brother Lance, and dozens of other prisoners were subject to inhumane experimentation in order to perfect the Pale Garden's super soldier nano. Of more than fifty test subjects, Liam and Scott were the only two survivors of Dr. Thibou's Spaceman Project.

"Do you have an interest in genetics, Mr. Blue?"

He looked down at the short woman, slightly lost in his thoughts. For a moment he didn't see the down on her luck scientist adrift in space and beholden to the whims of two underworld smugglers. He saw a woman who could possibly help him crack the secrets of the R.Nano coursing through his veins and find a means to free himself from the Pale Garden's clutches. He saw a weapon to be used in his war with Belladonna and her Primus. Her uneasy reaction to his expression brought him back to himself.

His scowl slipped back into his playful smirk.

"I'm sorry. What was that?" he asked.

"I'd wanted to know if you have an interest in genetics, but if the question is too personal..."

"Not at all. I just remembered something important I need to attend to as soon as we can get connection to the Earth Conglomerate networks." He bent down as if joining her in a private conspiracy. "Wide.Net is just a bit too open to the public for some things."

"I get that," she acknowledged. She reached under the long food counter and came up with a fresh stack of trays.

"Cool. To answer your question, over the last few years I've developed an interest in the long term effects of exposure to military-grade nano. Specifically the cellular changes caused by the constant injections soldiers receive to maintain a useful reservoir within the body."

Her look of concern became one of surprise. Before she could think too hard on the topic, he forged ahead.

"Myself and a lot of the people I employ have spent a decade or more in EC service, receiving those shots over and over again. Some have experienced medical issues that can not be explained. I'm convinced it's the nano."

She nodded. "That's not an unrealistic leap. My specialty is viruses, but, if I had to speculate, I'd say you might be onto something. Modern nano is based on virology and microengineering."

"Do you know of any research pertaining to repairing cellular damage due to the rampant usage?'

Liam wanted to pick her brain, and possibly get his hands on her research in order to pass it on to the doctors back home. They were always looking for a way to safely remove the R.Nano from his blood. The silvery goo, made him a one man army, but it also left him susceptible to the commands of any Primus within a mile of him. It made him the Pale Garden's greatest threat and potentially their greatest weapon. Eagle X tirelessly searched for a way to fix that.

"Actually, I might know of an–"

A high pitch keen tore through the room. If the Trill Barrier had been a bone rattling whistle, drowning them beneath its weight, then this was less debilitating yet somehow more jarring. The keening pulsed, blasting through them in repetitive waves. The refugees panicked, many disoriented by the sonic barrage, but the smugglers had a more organized response. Those waiting on line bolted from the room in organized groups, similar to military drills. Those seated at the tables shoveled food down their throats or grabbed what they could before rushing off to join their peers.

"What's going on?" Dr. Leasia asked as the sound died down enough to be heard over.

Liam handed her the ladle, catching Hitman and Blockade's eyes. "That was some sort of alarm. If I were you, I'd have my people stay here."

Liam gestured for the team to follow him and hurried after the last of the smugglers. They navigated past the cafeteria and galley to a lift where Monch called out hurried assignments. The blue-furred alien ignored them at first, focused on directing the traffic of bodies. Liam called out in an attempt to grab his attention. When that didn't work, he grabbed the creature by the straps of his coveralls and gave him a good shake. With a squeak, Monch threw his four hands up in surrender.

"What's the sitrep?"

"Wha– All stations– general quarters– awaiting further orders!" Monch flailed his arms, sending tufts of fur in every direction.

"You're going to give him stress-induced baldness," Hitman said, putting a hand on Liam's shoulder. "Let him catch his breath. Maybe it'll help him make sense." The last was directed at the squim.

Liam eased his grip, but didn't let go. He motioned with his head for Monch to try again.

"All Stations. Everyone on duty has to report to their stations. General quarters for all off duty staff while they await further orders."

"See, that's better," Hitman said, running his hand along the fur on Monch's shoulder. His eyes widen when they come away covered in blue hairs.

Liam wasn't satisfied. "Okay. All stations. Why? What was that sound? It was different from the Trill."

Monch began to fidget, twiddling his thumbs while simultaneously adjusting his coveralls. "Maybe you should speak to my employers..."

"I'm speaking to you," Liam grumbled, doing a decent imitation of Scott.

The hall traffic had thinned as most of the crew already knew where they needed to be. This wasn't something new and unexpected. They'd trained for this.

"I'm getting the feeling this is another one of your employers 'unexpected' detours." Liam put his hand on the grip of the pistol on his hip.

Blockade stepped past him, grabbed the blue squim by the nape of his neck, and hoisted him into the air with one hand.

"Talk," the big man said, his voice a deadpan rumbling base.

The sound of it was so intimidating, Liam almost forgot his own annoyance. Hitman elbowed him in the side.

"Did... did the big guy just talk?"

"That sound means there was an unauthorized breach of the sound barrier," Monch blurted out. The words exploded out as fast as the hyperventilating alien could draw breath. "We're changing course to intercept."

"No the fuck we aren't," Liam spat. "Where are your treacherous bosses? We need to speak, now!"

"Command deck," the squim squeaked.

"Team, meet me on the command deck on the double!" Liam spoke over their private network.

Raven: I better get to kick someone's ass this time.

"That's the plan."

Liam, Hitman, and Blockade boarded the lift, the big man carrying Monch under his arm as if he weighed nothing. As the numbers beeped past, Hitman looked from Liam to Blockade with apprehension. The former glanced pointedly down at the pistol on the pilot's hip. Shaking his head, Hitman checked the clip. He hummed a few bars to a tune he was fond of then turned to the big man.

"You look good in that. Very retro."

Blockade grunted.

The lift opened and the one opposite them opened a moment later. Nubia and Scott disembarked, both looking like they were ready for a fight. The five gathered in the hallway, forming up back to back.

"What's going on, bossman?" Nubia asked.

"I think our smuggler friends are playing games with our money and our time." Liam took a deep breath. "We're about to have a serious conversation about our arrangements."

"Mr. Blue, I assure you, neither of my employers would do such a thing. They–"

Monch squeals, his words cut off by the pump of Blockade's bicep.

"We're heavily outnumbered, but there's barely a handful of real fighters among them," Nubia remarked.

"I've made the same assessment."

Nubia looked up and down the hallway. "I think I could navigate this tub if I had to."

"If it floats, I can fly it," Hitman said. "Maybe I'll get a chance to see what kind of tunes this thing has onboard."

Liam chuckled. He needed to. They'd been dealing with delay after detour after delay and it was time to take a stand. They were on a timetable that could not be altered.

"On me, team. Nobody shoots until I do." He looked up at Scott. "If we start shooting, the goal is to commandeer the ship. I want casualties to a minimum."

Resigned to doing whatever it took to complete the mission, Liam led the team onto the control deck. The Song Brothers stood in front of a display, quietly discussing the data scrolling past as the captain and crew of their freighter hurriedly plotted the ship's new course. The command crew was a mix of raiel, squim, and a pair of humans. They worked with the seamless efficiency of a group who have done the job many times. Everyone was so engrossed in their tasks, no one even bothered to look up.

Liam poked Monch in the forehead with his finger, tipping his head towards The Songs.

"Ahem, assistance may be required," he called, his voice a mix of panic and matter of fact.

Everyone turned towards the door and the armed mercenaries. The crew stopped in their tracks, their faces full of apprehension. The Song Brothers expressions were inscrutable. Liam gave the smugglers a mirthless showing of teeth.

"We need to talk."

Pi and Pornim exchanged a curious look then nodded their agreement.

"Captain, proceed to our new destination."

"No, Captain," Liam snapped, stopping the raiel in the captain's chair before he could give orders. "Maintain our current course. You're on the clock."

"Mr. Blue, might I remind you this is not your ship?" Pornim hummed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Might I remind you that we paid, in advance, to be ferried to and from our specified rendezvous point?"

"We are fully aware, but–"

"No buts." Liam rubbed the space between his eyes. "With your extenuating circumstances and pitstops, I have no idea if we'll reach our destination on time."

"This detour can not be avoided."

"Bullshit. You can stay on course and deal with whatever is happening afterwards."

"That is incorrect. We cannot afford the consequence of ignoring our summons."

"I can't afford any more delays."

Scott snarled and the team spread out. Pi rubbed the long scars on his face as he watched the felarnian step a little closer. One of the squim crewmen activated an intercom, but his words froze on the tip of his tongue when Nubia put a pistol barrel just under his squirrel nose. Hitman gestured for the rest of the crew to back away from their instruments.

"If money is the issue, I'm sure we can come to an agreeable arrangement."

"It's not about the money."

"It is, in part, about the money," Pi hummed.

"Maybe, but-"

"There has been an unauthorized breach–" Pi began to explain.

"I've been informed. Unfortunately, that is not my concern."

"But it is ours," Pi hummed. "It is the duty of all ships within range of the breach alert to intercept any intruders to Raiel Space. Those who do not assist in the defense of our territory–"

"Are severely punished," Liam interrupted. "I'm starting to see a theme."

"This is our way." Pornim stepped between Scott and Pi, his hand resting on the grip of his dish-tipped pistol. "It has benefitted my people for thousands of years."

"It doesn't benefit us. It screws us over."

"Umm, this isn't that far off course," Hitman said, studying the map beside the helm.

"It doesn't matter. We're done with detours."

Liam understood The Song's position, but there comes a time when you've compromised too much. He didn't want to cross over that threshold and screw himself and the mission.

"We will pay you for the inconvenience," Pi said, putting a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder. "Or perhaps a discount on future services."

"No... deal."

Scott whipped his head around, eyebrow raised.

"Was that an agreement, Mr. Blue?"

"Bossman?"

Nubia's face matched everyone else's. They needed an answer, but Liam was suddenly teetering on the edge of unsurety.

"Hitman, What kind of additional time are we looking at?"

The pilot consulted the flight data and his datapad.

"If we're in and out, eight hours max. It'll be rough, but we'll still be within our arrival window." He smiled and gave a thumbs up.

"If we agree–"

A collective sigh spread through the smugglers.

"If we agree, I want the debt marker for the Corgis Adar Tech scientists."

Pi's passive face turned incredulous. Taken aback by Liam's offer, Pornim forgot about Scott for a moment.

"Their debt is not on the table."

"That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

Pi put his hand up to halt anymore talk and pulled his brother away so that they could sing to one another in relative privacy. Scott joined Liam.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

"I'm not sure, but I think I'm making us some new friends." Liam gestured for the team to relax.

"I don't want new friends. I want to kick some ass and get this mission over with."

"Down, kitty. We can do both."

Scott shoved Liam hard enough that he nearly fell over.

"Fine," Pornim said, grudgingly. "You can have their debt. In exchange, you will let us fulfill our obligations without further interference or threats."

"Deal."