Greg sat perfectly still. His pulse drummed in his ears, every muscle drawn tight..
What did this Kasman mean?
He forced a steady breath through his lungs. "What you've been seeking? Why would you think that?"
The Kasman's hood shifted just enough to reveal a faint smile—sharp and unreadable. "Because you are not hiding from survival, Greg Hale," he said quietly. "You are chasing meaning and survival. That makes you useful."
Greg frowned. "Useful? To you?"
"I need a pilot," the Kasman replied. His voice was low, resonant—like metal vibrating under pressure. "Not just any pilot. A resourceful one. A good one."
Greg leaned back slightly, jaw tightening. "I'm guessing this isn't a job posting."
The Kasman's smile deepened by a fraction. "No. It's an invitation. When your ship is fixed, I need you to take me somewhere."
Greg's muscles stiffened. His mind was already racing. He hadn't checked for ESC's message yet, and he still had to report back with the Xilvi haul. He couldn't take this job—whatever it was.
And the Kasman… he could be anyone, anything. Someone with a mission, or someone with a death sentence waiting to be shared.
"I'm not your pilot," Greg said finally, voice flat. "Whatever you're planning, find someone else."
The Kasman didn't move. "I have tried," he said, his tone calm—too calm. "But others… lack your kind of survival."
Greg huffed, forcing a grin. "You mean stupidity."
The Kasman ignored that. "You've been stranded, hunted, left for dead, and yet somehow you still got what you sort. That is not stupidity. That is persistence."
"Persistence doesn't pay for fuel," Greg shot back. "And it sure as hell doesn't buy food. So unless you've got Tapil or a way off this rock, we're done." He got up to leave.
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then the Kasman reached slowly into his cloak. Greg's hand twitched toward his sidearm, but the Kasman only set something on the table.
A small, cylindrical object rolled to a stop with a dull metallic clink.
Greg frowned, leaning closer. At first glance it looked like a power cell—but heavier, denser. Its casing was a dark alloy that caught the light in strange patterns, like it had been forged under a different kind of gravity. Veins of dull blue energy pulsed faintly along its ridges, slow and steady, like a heartbeat.
He blinked. "That's… an energy core."
"Yes," the Kasman said. "A working one."
Greg reached out but stopped himself. His breath caught. The design wasn't anything he recognized—not Exnec, too old to be. This thing was ancient. Pre-Exnec, maybe even pre-Union. The alloy alone was enough to make any mechanic drool.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, suspicion and curiosity wrestling in his chest.
The Kasman's eyes gleamed from beneath the hood. "It is of no concern. What matters is that I will pay you with this—for the flight."
Greg's mind spun. A working pre-Exnec energy core? He could sell that for fifty thousand taps, maybe more. Enough to repair the Runner, pay off his debts, and buy passage anywhere he wanted. He could even ditch ESC—bad idea maybe.
But still… the Kasman's composure, his strange timing, the fact that no one else seemed to notice him walk in.
Greg swallowed hard. "You're serious?"
The Kasman inclined his head. "Completely."
Greg hesitated, staring at the faintly glowing core. He could practically feel the hum of its stored power. It was probably the most valuable thing on this miserable planet.
Finally, he exhaled through his teeth and muttered, "Fine. You've got yourself a pilot."
The Kasman leaned back, the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. "Good," he said. "Then we leave as soon as your ship can fly."
Greg pocketed the core carefully, its weight like temptation itself. He told himself it was just business—just one flight. But deep down, he knew nothing about this deal would end simple.
He looked up again. "Where to, exactly?"
The Kasman paused before answering. "Rekov."
Greg's eyes narrowed. Rekov? A medical trade hub in the outer fringe, crawling with smugglers, brokers, researchers and even Concord eyes. What the hell would a Kasman want there?
As the Kasman rose, his full height seemed to fill the space, towering over Greg like a scary shadow.
Greg's voice came out low. "What should I call you?"
The Kasman turned slightly toward the door. "Edin," he said. "Edin Hiomes."
Then he walked out, leaving only the hum of the core—and a silence that felt heavier than before.
Greg remained seated in silence. The noise of the bar slowly seeped back in—miners arguing, glasses clinking, the rattle of vents struggling against Galu's thin, poisoned air. But Greg barely heard any of it.
The name kept echoing in his head. Edin Hiomes.
He turned the energy core over in his palm, its faint blue pulse glinting off the grime on his fingers. The hum beneath its shell was steady—too steady. Like something alive pretending to be dormant. The thing didn't belong here. Hell, it didn't belong anywhere near Galu.
A Kasman with a relic like this? Nothing about that made sense. The Kasmans didn't trade with outsiders, and they sure as hell didn't hire humans. How had he even reached Galu?
Greg slipped the core into his coat pocket, feeling its weight tug at him like guilt. Fifty thousand taps… maybe more. That kind of money didn't fall into your lap without a reason.
He stood and looked toward the bar's exit. The door swung lazily on its hinges, still creaking from Edin's departure. No one else had noticed him go, and that unsettled Greg more than anything else.
He muttered under his breath, "What the hell are you, Edin?"
Outside, Galu's dusk-light washed everything in hues of red and gray. Dust coiled through the air like smoke, drifting over rusted prefabs. Greg stepped into the wind, his boots crunching over gravel as the faint hum of his ship's beacon called from the distance.
Maybe he'd take the job. Maybe he'd sell the core and vanish before Edin came looking. Either way, this wasn't over.
The wind howled through the yard, carrying the faint stench of ozone and decay. Greg's gut twisted. He needed to rest before the Runner was flight-ready.
But even as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that the core was listening.