solid

The way those local Feds took after us, you would think they had never dealt with Runners before. And honestly, you think they’d be more worried about the local criminals who had just made off with a cargo of alcohol than with the clearly interstellar traders who just happened to bring it to their junkheap town. In the end they were doing the jobs they’re paid to do, and probably the jobs they believe they’re right in doing, but after all that, they didn’t do a good job of it.

We were all there, unloading the goods out of the shuttle we borrowed, and the contacts played everything straight, and Caban was brimming with glee. In all my years, the Feds have never gotten any better at showing up at any other time than immediately after the coin has been tossed. We didn’t need to shoot, though of course Ice did, and so of course Kon did, and that is probably why they chased us. So there we were, screaming across the desert in that little shuttle, Ice and Kon looking back and shouting when they saw a missle flare, Em squealing and mashing the keyboard in what I can only assume was a helpful way, the Doctor calmly covering his ears and making sure we were all strapped in, Caban unbuckling his harness and standing behind me in the pilot’s chair, his hand gripping my shoulder, laughing. We dodged every last missile they emptied at us, even with the rusty Haveor navs and bolt-bucket engine. We left them blast-end behind, and got the coin, and made the Feds day that much worse, and that much more exciting. Caban is knocking at my door, and I can feel his laughter from here.