Hard Luck Hermit

“So what the fuck do you think this is about?”

Corey had a news article about Loben’s murder pulled up on his datapad. His association to them was thoroughly mentioned, right down to the gun being removed from the magazine. The connections were obvious, and the news was spreading fast.

“My running theory is that somebody wanted to kill Loben and this was a convenient smokescreen for them,” Kamak said. “Odds are this is all some random maid looking to keep the cops off her tail long enough to flee.”

“That better be all this is,” Tooley said. “If we get wrapped up in some other horseshit conspiracy I’m killing myself.”

“Tooley.”

“Hyperbole,” Tooley said. “Mostly. I absolutely will pilot this ship into some bumfuck nothing corner of the universe to wait out the storm, though.”

“We should stock up on food, just in case,” Kamak said. “And also…”

He pulled out his datapad and pulled up Quid’s contact information. Their handler answered in seconds.

“Hey, Quid, I need something.”

“What do you need?”

“Actually, give it one second,” Kamak said. He paused and took a sip of his shiiv, then looked around the room for a few seconds. “Alright, that’s probably long enough.”

“Long enough for what, Mr. Kamak?”

“Long enough for the people spying on your comm lines to notice I’m here,” Kamak said. “Hey, Ghost, whenever you’re ready I want to talk about this murder situation.”

“Sir, what are-”

“Thanks Quid, bye,” Kamak said, before hanging up. He set the datapad on his lap and waited.

“That seems like a stretch.”

Kamak’s datapad let out the small chime of an incoming call. He took a second to look smug about that before answering.

“Yo, Ghost, how’ve you been.”

“This isn’t the Ghost,” a clearly synthesized voice said. “And I don’t appreciate your petty attempts to get our attention.”

“Well you haven’t given me your comms info, what else was I supposed to do?”

To Kamak’s surprise, his datapad chimed again, this time with a permanent contact link.

“We’ll burn that info in a second if you ever misuse it,” the digital voice said. “Now what do you want?”

“What do you think I want, I want to know everything you know about Loben’s murder,” Kamak said. “Preferably-”

Another datapad chime signaled another packet transfer, this time several folders of information on the Loben murder.

“We’ve sequestered the crime scene photos in a marked folder,” the digital voice said. “We do not recommend looking at them.”

“So we’ve heard,” Kamak said. He flipped through some of the info and found it to be surprisingly comprehensive and unredacted. “Huh. Thanks.”

“Despite your best efforts, not everyone in the universe is your enemy, Kamak D-V-Y-B,” the voice scolded. “We have no reason to make this a source of conflict between us and your crew.”

“Alright then, candor for candor,” Kamak said. “I think you might have something to do with this.”

“That’s a bold but not unexpected accusation,” the voice said. “You think we’ve staged a murder connected to you in order to compel you to retire.”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” Kamak said. The Ghost had been leaning hard on having Kamak and his crew vanish from the public eye before they had a chance to screw up, and this murder felt like a thinly-veiled attempt to drag their reputation down without a catastrophic incident that might affect universal morale.

“I won’t say we haven’t considered something in this vein,” the voice said. It actually managed to muster a little humor into its voice, if only briefly. “But no. Mid level corporates like Loback help keep universal commerce flowing. Even an idiot like him is more use to us alive than dead, and even you have to see that well-known figures being brutally murdered isn’t good for keeping up spirits.”

Kamak rubbed his chin and looked to his crew. Tooley was the first to shrug, expressing a sentiment they all shared. It was impossible to be sure based on nothing but the promises of a mystery voice, but someone interested in universal stability probably wouldn’t go around assassinating innocent civilians.

“Fine. You and your squad of spooky black ops types have officially been moved further down our suspect list.”

“I’ll be sure to let the spooky black ops boys know,” the voice said.

“Oh look at that, it tells jokes,” Corey said. “Move them back up the suspect list.”

“Hilarious,” the voice said. “Our turn to ask a question now.”

“You’re probably going to get a sarcastic answer,” Tooley snapped.

“I’m aware,” the synthetic voice said. “You all clearly have your suspicions about this incident. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly had time to have our usual argument about it yet,” Kamak said. “But my instinct is to lay low and wait it out. There are other people better equipped to investigate, for now. If there’s more to this situation, we’ll find out. Probably the hard way.”

Corey nodded, and the rest of the crew also agreed. None of them liked the idea of sticking their noses into any messes they didn’t have to.

“That’s probably for the best,” the synthetic voice said. “Hope for the best-”

“Prepare for the worst,” Corey concluded.

“I was going to say ‘and wait it out’,” the voice said. “But yours works better.”

The call clicked off, and left the crew to sit alone in the Wanderer’s common room. Kamak tucked his datapad into his pocket and grabbed his drink.

“So, how long do we think before this gets even worse?”

“I give it two swaps,” Tooley grunted.

“Three if we’re lucky,” Corey said.

“You’re failing to account for travel times,” Farsus said. “It ought to be at least seven.”

“Good to know we can still count on you for murder logistics, Farsus,” Kamak sighed. “We’re going to need that skill.”