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"Venom to Oolien Station, requesting permission to dock."

_ "Oolien station to Dragontooth Mk. I Venom: your request for docking access has been delayed due to incoming traffic. Your queue position is 3. Please begin approach procedures."_

_ _ "So far so good," Jaime said and sat back in his black leather pilot's chair. He checked the radar. Just the green blip of the station ahead and a few yellow dots representing other ships within 25km. So far no purple. The pilot, a coffee-colored weasel with a white streak on his muzzle, eased his aging ship forward slowly, edging closer to safety. Jaime mindlessly hit the buttons to disarm missiles, power off all weapons systems and turn on docking lights, procedures he'd done hundreds of times before. But he still made sure the Venom's capacitors were fully charged in case he had to re-engage his weapon systems and blast his way into the station. His rounded ear twitched and he tapped his finger on the armrest anxiously. As long as no security forces were lurking nearby, he would soon get away with the second most profitable cargo run of his life.

Jaime stared out the viewscreen intently. The huge, slowly rotating torus-shaped station reflected the alien sun's harsh white light, making it appear much more shiny and new than he knew _Oolien Station_really was. He spotted an arrowhead-shaped ship in the distance, lined up with the central hub of the station and beginning to match its rotation. A deep blue stream of light followed its engine as it inched agonizingly slowly toward the station. It was in times like this Jaime realized just how badly he flew.

Risky, the mustelid corrected himself. Over the years he spent running cargo of varying legality, he had practically perfected the art of the suicidal sprint toward the docking bay. His current speed record while in the bay tunnel was just under 2km/s. Thank God for retrograde burners.

A bleep from the radar. Jaime cursed. He didn't have to look to know what it meant. Seconds later his comms system crackled to life.

"System Patrol Ship Constrictor to Dragontooth Mk. I Venom: your cargo has been scanned and has been found to contain illegal narcotics. Please power down all unnecessary systems and begin descent procedures toward the planet. You will be escorted down and apprehended on the surface. Resistance will mean your destruction."

Jaime took a calming breath and pressed the button to respond. "Venom to Constrictor, your commitment to keeping contraband off the station is admirable, but descent procedures won't be necessary. I admit I'm carrying 10 tons of tobacco, but I have a permit for it that was legally obtained from the shipping guild on--"

"Spare me your excuses, Venom, I see your permit. But my scanners show you're carrying a lot more than tobacco. I'm reading high levels of opium-based products in your hold. Begin descent procedures immediately. Consider this your last verbal warning."

The smuggler sighed. "Constrictor, are you sure your sensors are calibrated correctly? They could be confusing--"

The ship shuddered as it was hit square on the nose with a blinding amethyst-colored stream of lasers. Warning alarms blared all around him and the gauge for his front shields dropped dramatically. Jaime cursed and hit the thrusters. He knew he wouldn't be able to last long against military-grade lasers. The Venom's shields were one of the few things remaining unmodified on the rusting ship. Lasers in the era it was built were less powerful than even the weakest commercially available projected-energy weapons systems of today.

Another bright blast from the Constrictor hit the side of the ship and Jaime engaged in a series of evasive maneuvers. The patrol ship gave chase, and the two left bright blue streaks of ions twisting and turning behind them in the surrounding darkness of space.

Jaime considered his options. He quickly ruled out fighting the patrol ship. Even though the Venom was equipped with an equally powerful after-market military laser, his ship was hopelessly outclassed as a fighter by the sleek, triangular vessel gaining on him. He also ruled out surrendering and landing on the planet. It was doubtful it would work anyway; the system patrol business was typically considered a dull job, so the enemy pilot was probably having fun finally being able to shoot at something. Jaime considered fleeing the system, but of course, he wouldn't get paid that way.

The only option that remained was to survive long enough to be granted permission to dock with Oolien Station. Jaime knew it was a stretch, but he'd pulled off similar stunts before, and with more attackers. Sure, he'd have to pay fines for resisting arrest, but he'd still be able to sell the narcotics, and the profit he'd gain from those would far outweigh the fines. According to certain controversial interstellar shipping laws, narcotics were illegal to export from stations, but not to import. Once he was inside, the exported status of the goods would be cleared and he'd practically be a free man.

The patrol ship's amethyst blasts flashed past the canopy overhead as the Venom ducked and rolled. Lucky hits were depleting his rear shields faster than the ship's capacitors could replenish them. He knew he couldn't last like this for long, running and dodging. He needed to change tactics.

The weasel swung the ship around and charged at the patrol ship, engaging the modified fuel injectors to give him an extra burst of speed. His front shields dropped rapidly under the vicious assault from the other vessel, but the other pilot quickly realized they were on a collision course and chickened out first. Jaime cut off the fuel injectors and pulled up hard, putting him right on the tail of the Constrictor.

The smuggler smiled. Whoever equipped this system's security forces obviously didn't think their pilots would be in this position, and as such the patrol ship wasn't equipped with any rear-facing weapons. Even if the enemy pilot decided to launch a missile, Jaime could knock it out with his Electronic Counter-Measures system. He mentally patted himself on the back for putting in so much work modifying his ship.

"Venom, you are playing a dangerous game. Cease your pursuit at once or I will have no option but to use lethal force."

Jaime smiled a toothy grin. He could hear the nervousness in the other pilot's voice. "Lethal force, huh?" he spoke into the comm. "That won't do you much good if you can't even hit me."

The patrol pilot swore. The _Constrictor_swerved and weaved its course to try to get the smuggler off his six, but Jaime clearly had more experience dogfighting. He'd never flown in the military but his past run-ins with pirates had taught him the same skills. He had six kills on record to prove it.

But Jaime wasn't looking to make it seven today. Even though he had prime opportunities to fire straight into the blazing blue engines of the patrol ship, he kept his weapons systems safely offline. He knew attacking the patrol ship would only bring him more trouble. He just had to toy with the Constrictor and stay out of its front gun sights long enough for his docking clearance to go through.

"Venom to Oolien Station, how's that docking queue looking?"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but a large cargo convoy is currently disembarking the station. Your queue position has been pushed back to 22."

Jaime resisted the urge to turn his lasers on the station itself. Typical bureaucracy was putting his life on the line once more. But judging by the flying skills of the enemy pilot, he figured he had a good chance of surviving that long.

The weasel's brief conversation with the station traffic control had broken his concentration and made him lose the patrol ship. They were now engaged in a turning war to try to get on the other's tail again. The other pilot's inexperience made itself embarrassingly clear. The Interceptor Mk. IV he was flying was superior to Jaime's old Dragontooth in almost every way, especially in terms of speed an maneuverability, but he still managed to avoid the patrol ship's wrath.

"Sure you can fly that thing, Constrictor?"

"You shut your smart mouth, you cocky bastard. When I get my paws on you..."

Jaime caught a quick glimpse of the station. He could see the blue trails of two ships headed out. Twenty to go, he thought to himself and gritted his teeth. But something had seemed off about their ion trails. They seemed shorter, like they had recently made a sharp change of direction.

The smuggler checked his radar. They were coming his way. The lead ship's bow flashed, and bright gold streaks shot by his canopy as the nimble scout added its own firepower to the dangerous game he and the patrol ship were playing, and it quickly became clear the newcomer had sided with the law. Jaime recognized the hue of the new ship's lasers as blasts from a beam cannon. While not quite on par with military tech, it was still one hell of a weapon system. As a rule of thumb, whenever Jaime ran into a group of three or more pirate ships using beam cannons, he decided it was safer to run away than to stand and fight, even with his superior firepower. The odds were now quickly turning against him.

The agile scout ships scored a string of hits on his rear shields. It was enough to overpower them briefly, and the _Venom_lurched as it felt the full force of the blasts. Red lights flashed all over the control panel as Jaime swerved away to preserve his ship. As he rolled and dodged he spared a glance at the ship status. The nosy newcomer had managed to breach his hull and damage the cargo bay. Internal sensors listed three 1-ton containers of narcotics as completely destroyed. This venture was getting less profitable by the second.

"Screw this," Jaime said and whipped the ship around and hit the fuel injectors once more. The small mustelid gave a whoop as the acceleration nearly flattened him against the back of his seat. This time he let the injectors run for longer, making the ship feel like it would rattle itself apart but also putting considerable distance between him and his opponents. Even when the angry red blips had disappeared from his radar he kept pushing forward as fast as he could make his ship run. His radar had a range of 25km but he knew from personal experience military lasers could hit targets up to 30km away. It would be a tough shot, but in the state the _Venom_was in it wouldn't take much more than that to blow him to pieces.

He pulled up his nav computer and considered his options. The injectors had depleted his fuel supply substantially, but he still had enough juice to perform a hyperspace jump of about 2 LY. Luckily, there was a system just within that distance, one apparently home to a poor agricultural world. It was a little close to one of his creditors' territory for comfort, but for now it was an opportune place to retreat to, refuel and lick his wounds.

He locked in the course and warmed up the hyperspace drive. In just fifteen seconds he would be safe. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly as he constantly checked the radar. The faster-than-light technology was sometimes finicky -- it was recommended to stay on a completely straight course before the jump. He would be a sitting target for the three ships he knew were catching up to him.

A few kilometers in front of him the stars began to bend and dance as a patch of space rippled with energy. The hyperspace drive was creating a temporary wormhole to the other star system -- one that the other ships wouldn't be able to follow him through. The stars warped and distorted until they were suddenly pushed aside by a circular gateway with a completely different set of stars on the other side. Just five more seconds...

Laser blasts slammed into the ailing rear shields and rattled Jaime in his seat. The shields finally failed, and another amethyst blast tore apart his starboard engine, sending debris in all directions. "Shit shit shit shit!!" The ship started careening to the right, away from the wormhole. He shut off the remaining engine, hoping inertia would carry him through.

But it was too late. The ship slid toward the side of the gap in space-time. Jaime tried to make last minute course corrections, but the red lights everywhere told him it was impossible. The weasel could only watch in horror as the Venom went straight for the edge of the wormhole.

The ship split itself nearly in half on the edge, taking most of the rear of the ship to litter the orbit of the predestined poor agricultural world, and leaving the rest wracked with explosions and warning alarms. Tiny cobalt lightning bolts arced from surface to surface in the cockpit and thick black smoke quickly made breathing unbearable. Jaime was nearly deafened by the remaining ship systems blasting themselves apart. Shards of panels and circuitry were flying everywhere, some streaking across his skin and leaving stinging cuts. He cursed and hit the bright red "Eject Cockpit" button.

The front section of the ship shot away from the volatile, multicolored fireball that was the remainder, attempting to take Jaime to safety. But the miniature lifeboat shook with its own explosions inside and out. Inside, a white canister of some impossibly cold liquid burst open and sprayed in the smuggler's face. The weasel screamed and choked on smoke as he tried to get the fluid off. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was the sensation of his finger pads sticking to his eyeballs.

* * *

"Breakfast time, 2046."

The slender fur in the jumpsuit nodded but did not turn around. He sat on the metal cot with his back toward the humming force field that separated him from the security guard, who slid a tray of what passed for food underneath. Every day it was the same lynx guard, Kevin, who came by to give him lunch and try to cheer him up. The mustelid inside continued his work unhurriedly, carefully applying the liquid contents of a tube to a scarred finger before tracing it along a piece of paper.

"C'mon, bud, eat up. Today's your big day, isn't it?" The inmate grunted in reply. "You've been in here longer than I've worked here," the chatty feline continued. "How long will this have been for you? Seven, eight years?"

"Fifteen."

"Damn, that long? Bet you're ready to get back to the outside world, huh?"

"No home out there," the weasel said. "Not anymore. Here I get three square meals and all the privacy I could hope for. Except when people come by and try to make small talk..."

The lynx didn't take the hint. "But it's gotta be better than being stuck in a cell for the rest of your life, right? You can go outside and get fresh air, see the suns again, go to the beach and watch the waves roll in, see some--"

Jaime turned slowly to face him. The guard gulped. "Right. Sorry."

The inmate loved messing with Kevin. It was his only real social interaction each day, and he knew his face, or what was left of it, unnerved the guard even after five years. Scar tissue covered the majority of it, a physical memory of the terrible accident years ago. Where fur still existed it was short and scraggly--the white streak on top of his muzzle was barely distinguishable. His once-round nose looked almost fig-like and his mouth was always set in a frown. In the place of his eyes there was only taut skin, like they were never meant to be there at all. He wondered how his old friends would react if they saw him now. Associates, he corrected himself. He couldn't really call them friends anymore, and not just because he hadn't seen them in fifteen years.

"I've told you before, there's nothing left for me out there, except some people who think I owe them money. And I can't work a job, either, not like... well, in my state. I'm better off in here, left to my art."

"Right..." The guard shifted uncomfortably. "So, uh, what are you painting this time?" The man carefully set down the tube of paint he was working with and held the flimsy paper up for the security guard to see. "Not bad. Not bad at all. That supposed to be an old Dragontooth?" He nodded. "That's some nice detail you've got there. The whole piece is very lifelike, if not a little abstract. Is there really a world out there with a purple sun, or was that from your imagination?"

The man swore and turned away, feeling around for the right tube of paint. "Motherfucker. He told me it was yellow. Gonna kill that sonofabitch..."

Kevin bit his lip. "So, uh, you got anyone on the outside that can come pick you up? Anybody you know who we can contact to sign your release forms?"

The inmate laughed bitterly. "Nobody I'm not in debt to."

"Aw, cheer up, 2046, they might be willing to waive a few credits after all this time, especially once they see, uh... your... art?"

"Art? What good is my art if I can't paint a sun in any of the right damn colors?" He sighed. "It's not like anybody gives a shit about art anymore, anyway."

"Sure they do," the guard consoled him. "You've been to museums, right? People pay to see art. And filthy rich people love to collect art, even if it's abstract. Actually, especially so. They love that shit. I mean, not to call what you're doing..." The feline coughed. "Point is, maybe that's how you can make money out there. Start selling your art to the rich, pay off your debts, make a little profit."

The weasel's small, round ears twitched at the 'p' word. "You think so?"

"Hey, it's worth a shot, right? Tell you what, why don't we call one of the people you only owe a little bit of money to, and they can pick you up and take care of you until you've made enough money to pay them back. Sound like a plan?"

Jaime pondered this for a second before nodding. "Might as well. Hell, if I don't make it in the art business, I can always have 'freak show' as my fallback job."

"That's the spirit."