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Casey gets told "don't be impossible," and listens as well as you'd expect

Hello, fuzzies, it's time for some more jackal adventures_, with Casey and Dev! And an old friend, who definitely will not cause any problems :3 I hope you enjoy! Thanks to Spudz for help proofreading, and to Luperkaios for an excellent degree of Jackal Consultancy, as always._

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"You know what we haven't done in awhile? Something fun," Casey said.

Dev eyed the jackal warily. They were still waiting to dock at Kemmerer Station--the lines had been unseasonably long--and she was clearly getting restless. "We should have a pretty good META connection out here. You want me to check the prices for one of the resorts, Case?"

She grinned--this was, itself, the kind of grin that justified a very great deal of wariness, indeed. "Not that kind of fun. Jackal fun," she amended. "Jackal fun is different than coyote fun."

"Meaning coyotes see it differently?"

"I'm not sure! What does the coyote say?"

"Well..." According to the station's traffic controller, they could expect another two hours of delay before being cleared to dock. Casey had traded her flightsuit for a loose-fitting shirt and shorts, she was sprawled in Devin's lap, and as he worked his paws beneath the shirt the coyote considered how liable he was to successfully distract her. "Fun, I imagine, we could accomplish."

"Oh, indeed. But I mean fun and dangerous. You knew that."

"'Dangerous' like you want to stop taking your suppressants?"

Dev had his own contraceptive chip installed, less because he didn't trust Casey than because a lifetime of being a coyote had taught him it was best to have insurance. The jackal rolled her eyes, and twisted around to make sure he could see it. "Can you really see me as a mother?"

"No." Well. That answer had been a bit too simple. "Maybe."

"'Maybe'?"

"It's a big universe, Case."

Her eyes glinted. "Like a mom-mother? Baking cookies and stuff? Or like one of those gods who gives birth to a volcano or something and then has to bind it for all eternity with the tail of a comet after it melts her husband?"

"More of the second," he admitted.

Casey twisted further, swinging her leg over him to settle in his lap. "Are you worried about being melted, Devvy?"

"Well. Let's be honest." She was, in any case, extremely warm in the coyote's lap. He slid his arms around her comfortably. "It's not exactly like we have reasonable hobbies. And between the two of us, I feel like I'm the one more likely to suffer physical--"

"What's that?" She rolled her hips as she cut him off. And then she kept doing it for the handful of seconds it took until the coyote started to react, stiffening beneath her. "Suffering, Dev?"

"In the general case." He clicked his teeth before her nose.

She kept teasing him, eyes narrowing and grin twisting into a smirk. "Oh, I know. It's very hard to be a coyote. But you handle it with such style."

Perhaps, Dev thought, she was to be successfully distracted. "You mean I give you what you want?" She cast her eyes upward, thoughtfully, and he took the opportunity to slide his paws to her rear and favor her with a grope. "Hmm?"

"Maybe..."

His claws hooked into her shorts. "Get these off."

Her answer had the same lilting, girlish voice as she'd used for 'maybe.' "Okay, Dev." She stood, finding purchase gracefully while her nose stayed pressed against his, and her muzzle canted to steal a playful kiss as he felt the fabric of her shorts slide past him down her legs.

As long as the opportunity was presenting itself, he undid his jeans and shoved them off. Casey broke the kiss; he heard a quiet, throaty good boy next to his ear, and then she was straddling him again. "Doin' my part, Case..."

And it wasn't like she disagreed. Obviously. She shifted about on his crotch, rolling her hips until the tip of the coyote's shaft caught. He saw that happen as much as felt it: those keen, jewel-sharp eyes flashed, and her broad ears flicked back.

That part never had to take any time. The jackal had a preternatural skill with angles and velocity. So as she eased herself onto him, and silky, tight warmth slowly enveloped his cock, every second of it was deliberate.

She sank down slowly, fluidly, until her thighs were resting on his and he was buried to the hilt. Her tail flipped and swayed, thudding against his knees. Watching him--her eyes were devilishly focused--she began to ride the coyote.

Just as fluidly, just as easily, stroking his cock through the velvet, soft grip of her cunt--pausing with a quiet snicker the first time she felt him twitch inside her, and the added slickness of his pre spreading in her folds. "Jackal," he groaned.

The tension in it got another snicker from her. Casey was, he realized, taking her time very deliberately. She had to be enjoying herself; she adjusted her angle for one so evidently better that even she couldn't help her soft gasp, and the quicker way she slid down to take the coyote. "Yes?"

"Is the danger--" she shoved down hard, and he felt her squeeze about him, forcing a growl from her hapless mate. He jerked his hips up in a sharp thrust, trying to assert some control over the situation. "Is the danger that you tease me until I pin you?"

Her head tilted. She grinned, rocking faster in his lap as though it would help her consider an answer. Fuck it felt good--slippery, inviting heat surrounding him, rewarding the muttered groans and growls he gave her. "Oh. You wanted danger?"

The jackal's tempo had grown purposeful and energetic enough that he could feel pleasure starting to throb more insistently in his shaft. His knot was swelling, and he didn't bother to hold that back, either. "Just asking, Case."

"Well. What does this do?" She reached over him for one of the controls on the engineering console, and he just barely managed to grab her wrist in time.

"Casey!"

She tried with the other paw, and he seized that, too. Now that he had both of them fixed she licked his nose, and then flashed teeth with her grin. "What?"

"Don't be--" She dropped heavily onto his crotch, driving his cock deeply into her, and as he felt her taking his knot he nearly lost hold of her paws. Channeling it into a snarl instead required sincere effort--But he managed. "Don't be a bitch."

"Don't ask for the impossible," she countered.

But he knew what the grin meant. With another snarl--deeper, more forceful--he swung her arms down until they were at her back, and one arm was enough to keep them pinned in place, and to pull her against his chest.

A gratified, heated gasp washed the fur of his neck as he took over for her, hammering up and into the jackal in strong, forceful bucks. She kept herself braced for it, letting him take her, but the gasps were already coming quicker together and he felt her thighs trembling to either side of his rocking hips.

If she was worked up enough, pent up enough, and if he had the patience to try for it, Devin could sometimes get her to break. Get a whimper from her, in those seconds where her composure cracked and just before he'd hear her cry his name; feel the sharp pressure of claws digging in.

This time he didn't have the patience: she was squeezing his knot like a vise every time it slipped inside, and he had stopped resisting the need to tie her and be done with it. When the tugging pressure was just a little too much--he probably could've pulled out. Maybe. If he wanted--he rammed in hard instead, and grabbed her rear with his free paw to hold her still.

A shudder arched her body, starting from her thighs and working all the way down to her fingers, and she howled. Her cunt clamped down on his shaft--as she momentarily relaxed he thrust again, sinking deeper. Bucked in time to those spasms, each one drawing him a little past the point of no return...

And then the rhythm was gone, it was just rapid, urgent pounding, humping up to force himself close to her--she was fairly writhing in his hold, a yelped "Devin!" and then "oh, fuck!" as she rode it out--

He groaned with the pleasure of his peak. The utter sense of release, jolting through him to fill the jackal in long, gratifying pulses. Eyes shut and ears pinned, head thrown back, he pumped his bitch with spurt after generous spurt of coyote cum.

And Casey squirmed eagerly on him, working a breathlessly exquisite pressure around his knot that kept him twitching in her well after the wet splashes were dying down to gentler trickles and the urgency of claiming her was no longer quite so demanding.

It still felt good, though. Felt fucking amazing to have her tied, held with a proper, authoritative tightness in his arms. He savored the afterglow, teasing her with slower, gentler grinds and thrusts. "Fuck... fuckin' hell, Case..."

"Like I said," she murmured. "You handle being a coyote with such style..."

"Wait. Were you being a bitch or were you being momentarily sincere?"

"Both!" She tugged her arms free--this, he knew, she could've done at any time--and pushed herself back from his shoulders. "Why, what did it sound like?"

"It sounded like a lot of jackal noises. Very, very hot jackal noises..."

Casey stuck out her tongue. "Not that."

"Says you." And, since they couldn't exactly go anywhere for a while, he decided to indulge in a bit more teasing. "You think you've gotten that out of your system for awhile, Case?"

"Working up my coyote? Yeah. For a bit."

"Causing trouble."

She smirked. "Doesn't this console have a biometric lock? Just in case some jackal wanders by and touches something?" Idly, the jackal in question reached past him to tap one of the screens.

Nothing happened, of course. "It's not just about jackals," he promised. "Guests. Boarding parties."

"But we weren't in any danger or anything back there. You just wanted an opportunity to hold me down." She grinned at him, already knowing the answer. "Happy?"

She already knew the answer to that one, too, though. Dev patted her hip gently. "Definitely. Although..." A worrying thought occurred to him. "That means that wasn't going to be dangerous, either. The danger is..."

"A fun surprise."

"Fun for..."

"Oh! For jackals," she promised. "I thought that was obvious?"

"Case." That meant she was planning something. "Casey, you know I love you. You--okay, if I say 'you know I love you' and you give me a smile like that, it's not very reassuring."

"But you like surprises. And you trust me."

The question wasn't so much one of trust, in isolation. It was what he trusted her to do. "Do you have a new job lined up? Are we gonna dock at the station and I find out..."

She was still smiling, and when he trailed off she bared teeth. "Yes, dear?"

"Do I need to check the comm logs, Case?"

"I'm very sure you don't."

"Case..."

Devin's father was a somewhat notorious hacker, and he'd passed his talents on to the younger coyote. Dev himself, however, had tried to stay clean. That didn't mean he managed, but Casey was the one with the greatest number of underworld contacts.

The most history with the various criminal families in the sector. The highest likelihood of having been approached by one of them--he could only guess at why. Or, perhaps, she was just teasing him. She was still grinning, after all. "You don't have anything to worry about..."

"That is, in fact, exactly what I'm worried about."

Before she could answer, their radio came on. "Long Tall Sally, this is Kemmerer Station Control. Can you take expedited entry?"

"There's a stroke of good fortune, isn't there?" she said, and nipped his nose. "I'm sure you trust me, don't you, coyote?"

"Not when you say it like that." But he Dev unmuted the radio at his console for her, anyway.

"Hey, Control. How expedited are we talking?"

"Just had a slot open up, if you think you can manage."

Casey grinned, not that the controller could see it. "If you've got an opening, we'll find a way to fill it, sure. What's our sequence?"

"Attagirl. Take landing pad A38. If you can leave the approach stack now, you should be able to circle past the ring beacons without too much inertial stress."

She switched the microphone off and gave an experimental tug of her hips that confirmed the pair were still firmly tied. "We'll need another couple minutes to get the engines up, Control. That still okay?"

"Yeah. Just call when you're ready. Control out."

The attempt hadn't exactly helped his knot start to deflate. "Guess we'll have to see," the jackal said, shrugging. "Don't think the cargo is too fragile, is it?"

"Nah. I'd rather you spare me first, to be honest..."

She snickered, and nipped his nose. "You think trying to pull that out of me is 'fun for jackals'? Don't you worry your pretty little head, Devvy."

Some effort was still required, though, and when she managed to pull free of him it was with an audible pop, nearly as lewd as the sound of coyote seed the deck plating--one solid splash, and then a patter like an opened faucet.

She nudged her panties into the puddle. "Do your best, I guess. I'm gonna check how bad the sequencing is." He listened to the negotiation while he mopped up the remnants of their activities as best as he could.

It took her shorts, too, but he'd just about finished when he heard the controller warn: "caution, traffic," and then Casey's harness clicking into place.

"Get ready, 'yote."

He held the clothes in place with his boot and strapped in. "Ready. Inertial dampeners on." Casey must've fired their lateral thrusters at absolutely full power, because the soaked shorts nearly went flying and the hold alarms began complaining for him.

There was no point in echoing it; the jackal was aware, and more focused on other things. Nailing the approach sequence meant cutting off an intersun freighter--she wouldn't have wanted to be in the wash from their engines, he supposed--but she managed it with the deft skill he expected from her, and then the ride eased out.

"Is that the worst of it?"

"Mm-hm. For now, should be. We'll have to burn off a bit more speed when we touch down."

Devin called up the map, which included the navigation plot she'd been given by the controller. There was nothing to stop her from decelerating smoothly--she just wouldn't want to, because it would take longer.

And because she enjoyed the drama, he supposed.

Knowing where they were meant to go, though--and with years of experience in Jackal--he could also guess where she intended to begin the retrofire, and preset the inertial dampeners to compensate for it.

The guess was a good one: he didn't really feel the impulse, and his first real sign of it was a curious "huh" from the pilot. "That's weird." She'd figured it out by the time they landed, the contact feather-light before the grapples secured them to the bay. "Spoilsport."

"Just trying to help."

She looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue. "Thanks, coyote. We're good to shut down, though. You mind handling the offload? I gotta clean up."

A stevedore in a exosuit was already waiting for them by the time he got himself dressed and lowered the cargo ramp. Getting the containers moved onto an antigravity sled only took a few minutes; he accompanied the stevedore deeper into the station to finish up the last of the paperwork.

"First time on the station?" They'd kept the suit helmet down, and Dev finally realized they were a Derean--a non-Confed race of insectoids who found Terran-compatible oxygen content insufficient. Their voice had the gravely tone of an antiquated synthesizer.

"First in a while, for me. Ten years, give or take? It was a real rough place back then."

"Still is."

"Really?" In his wilder days, Kemmerer--out on the edge of Confed territory--was a hub of non-TC traders, where the Star Patrol rarely ventured. But he'd seen a Patrol frigate parked outside. "Figured the bluecoats had it all locked down."

"No. Only concern is weapons going to Pictor. War becoming hot, I think. It is good. We have... understanding."

"Yeah?"

The Derean's synthesized laughter took the form of a gritty chuckle. "Arms trading is very profitable for us. Star Patrol understands that the lost income needs to be... recouped. So: anything else, they look the other way. My sect knew this was coming. We got out of weapons a few months ago, diversified into agricultural smuggling."

The Long Tall Sally had been carrying several hundred tons of chemicals intended as fertilizer precursor. Dev arched an eyebrow. "So this isn't going to be used for anything... sketchy?"

Instead of the also-sketchy, rough-edged harbormaster he expected, they met with a tigress from the Star Patrol. There was a service medal on Chief Banta's chest; a discreet META scan told him it had been for ten years of distinguished work.

"A long career in trade protection," Banta said. "If you were curious."

"I don't see many bluecoats with medals," the coyote explained, slightly chastened that he'd been so easily caught out.

"I imagine you don't see many 'bluecoats,' period." She took a computer from the stevedore. "From Jalet II, carrying 340 tons of munite, fifty of nitrated tellenium, and six hundred kilograms of Class E catalyst. The shipper says it's going onward to Eakaly."

Devin remained as impassive as he could. "I don't know. That wasn't on the bill of lading, ma'am. I'm just taking it as far as here."

"How fortunate for you. Since if you did know it was crossing the border, you'd need a license to export Class E materials." She flicked through a few more screens on the computer, where Dev couldn't see them. "Especially since the catalyst is a dual-use product. A precursor for certain explosives..."

The stevedore leaned over, and tapped on the computer for her. "Firm orders from agricultural companies for every last kilogram. Do you think I'd jeopardize our relationship with you over a few thousand credits like this?"

Chief Banta frowned, but handed the device back. "Probably not. Very well. Everything checks out."

Devin's first conclusion was that the war must've been more active than he thought. The Derean had said it was "becoming hot," and he'd heard anecdotally that regular activities were being wound down as the Star Patrol redeployed its forces. But he would never have expected to have their licenses checked--especially not at a place like Kemmerer.

His second conclusion was that the stakes had definitely been raised for what Casey might consider dangerous. She didn't believe in transporting weapons, no matter how good the money was... but for the right challenge... there, he wasn't entirely sure.

But if not, then the possibility also arose she'd gotten them into something more troubling. The really uninhibited traders would be looking for smuggling opportunities that a war presented, and that opened up a whole range of second-tier activities.

Taking the last job had been her idea, which made the destination her idea. She'd have a contact on the station--not her sister, or anyone in the Kai Syndicate. Not anyone Dev would know. She hadn't asked him to file any new paperwork, though, so...

So maybe she is just bored. She'll run an idea past you, and if you play along you can talk her out of it. Besides, she wouldn't do anything too crazy. Even jackals had their limits. He could just keep cool, and convince her to take a job that brought them away from the ragged border of Confederation space.

Staying level-headed, that was his job. The Long Tall Sally's cargo ramp was still lowered when he returned to the landing bay. Two figures were engaged in conversation next to the ramp. One of them was Casey. The other--

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

The other turned at the sound of his voice. She grinned. "Hello, coyote."

"Hello, coyote."

Xocoh Zonnie was a treasure hunter, a tomb raider, and the kind of all-around scoundrel that gave coyotes their reputation. She'd hired the Long Tall Sally earlier in the pair's career to help her find the fabled Lost City of Sjel-Kassar.

Which they had done, along with the planet-destroying superweapon to which it had been key. Getting to that point involved the near-destruction of the ship--twice!--and earning the ire of every criminal syndicate across two sectors.

He did not like the way she smiled. "Casey here was just catching me up on your last run. It sounds productive."

"Pretty decent," he said carefully. "Thirty-six thousand credits to get here from the Jalet System."

"A whole thirty-six," the jackal echoed, and Dev realized both that Xocoh had already pitched her on a job, and that their meeting had been unplanned. "It pays the bills."

Casey was bored, and he would have to think on his feet to keep her from getting them into real, proper, coyote-level trouble. "More reliable than holding out for residuals, isn't it?"

The other coyote sighed. "You're not the only one being fucked there, Dev. Serious work at Sjel-Kassar is gonna have to wait until the fighting dies down, at this point. I didn't get anything more than that initial stipend, either."

"You didn't have a freighter to rebuild," he pointed out.

"That's true. But you've done a good job! I like the new alignment channels. Casey says you put in an auxiliary power generator, too. Bet that's come in handy."

The coyote's field jacket had earned a few more scorch marks since the last time he'd seen her. "Yeah, a couple times. We can run off it when we're parked instead of having to keep the main reactor spun up."

"Not exactly what I meant. Anyway. Come here. Give me a hug, coyote. You do hugs, right?" She didn't give him the chance to answer, wrapping strong arms about him and pulling Dev in close. Her sharp muzzle--he was sure it still sported the same grin--found his ear. "Sixteen million."

He held the embrace a respectful two or three seconds, then let go. Then, when that didn't work, he unhooked the coyote's arms one at a time. "What's the job?"

"Salvage," Casey said.

"For that much? What was it carrying?"

"Nobody knows. Up." Xocoh pointed into the cargo bay. "Let's talk privately." Casey led the way, while their guest glanced about at familiar corridors. "Didn't spend any of that money on decor, huh?"

"I guess we didn't really see the point."

She grinned again. "Me either. Keep things nice and spartan, you know? You're such a coyote, Dev. I remember that." And, when they got to the ship's commons area, she dropped into one of the chairs like she already belonged. "So."

"So." Casey sat next to Dev, facing her. "You said you had some kind of salvage opportunity."

"It's a Raman generation ship. This would be the fourth to be recovered. From what I can tell, it's also in the best shape. Here: high-resolution scans from the surveyor." She set a data chip on the table, and brought its contents to life.

"What's a Raman generation ship?" Casey asked.

"The Ramans came before us by a few millennia--they're one of the cultures that emerged after the downfall of the Hano Empire. Eventually, they discovered hyperspace--5 or 6,000 BCE, I'm pretty sure the estimate is. But before that, they sent out generation ships. Hundreds of them, based on the worlds they settled."

"Good coyote," Xocoh said. "But this is an early one."

"Meaning?"

"In their early industrial period, they had... resource problems, let's call it. The first dozen ships or so weren't really designed for colonization. They were more... escape pods for the wealthy. Think of 'em like the Pyramids were, on earth: vessels for their god-kings."

"Pyramids don't go into space. You're talking about the treasure part of it?" Casey guessed. "The opulence? They told themselves they were the best of a dying world and they wanted to take the proof with 'em."

"Yeah. Full of paintings and gold and whatever. Good stuff."

"Millions of credits worth of good stuff." The other coyote nodded at Dev's appraisal.

"Millions of credits worth of good stuff that wasn't really theirs," was Casey's take. He was, again, reminded of the jackal's odd sense of morality: she'd been born on an agricultural backwater, all but abandoned by the Terran Confederation. There was more than a hint of bitterness when she said it, and a sharp edge when she continued. "Seems like it might as well be ours."

"Maybe." From what he knew of such ships--he'd run a few quick META searches, splitting his attention between Xocoh's holograms and the results--they were looking at an extremely intact one, indeed. Generation ships could fail for any number of reasons--asteroid collisions, or mechanical failure, or deliberate attack--and this seemed to have escaped those. "Anything more about it?"

"There aren't exactly any descendants left to ask, are there? So it's all conjecture," the other coyote said. "The trajectory implies that it left their homeworld about 9,000 years ago. It crossed the furthest extent of their space... I dunno, maybe two thousand years later?"

"I'm not so concerned with the archaeology. What about the present-day coyote kinda stuff, Xoc?"

Xocoh switched the hologram off, and nudged him with her foot beneath the table. "Good boy. Okay. From what I know, Mardan Sokol kicked off the chase in the '90s. Rumors about a ghost ship in the sector."

"There are always rumors. Sokol doesn't just bite on those. He likes to see returns." Casey met her partner's curious expression with a wink. "You think I don't know Mardan? Him and Satari go way back. Expensive tastes."

"Mardan is the sixth-generation owner of Sokol Space Industries," Xocoh explained. "He's also the biggest collector of rare starships in the Terran Confederation. Mardan tracked down the wreckage of the only surviving Ferrari 8M and handled the restoration. I don't know what happened to it after that..."

"Yes you do."

She grinned, and he heard her tail thump steadily. "Oh. Right, so I do. Some crazy jackal stole it off her boyfriend Satari Kai. All by herself, with no help whatsoever..."

"Does Mardan know who I am?" Casey asked.

Xocoh shook her head. "Doesn't know who I am, either. One of his searchers found the generation ship two years ago in the Deshal Sector. They didn't board it, but did get close enough to image it. Then his survey vessel suffered a catastrophic reactor failure."

Dev's knowledge of starships wasn't encyclopedic, and he didn't know that much about Mardan Sokol or his proclivities. "I assume something happened to it first? An errant particle beam, maybe?"

"Probably. Either way, a friend of mine got the data from... another friend of mine. Mardan apparently knows it's still out there. He's got plans to endow some museum for his legacy."

"And we'd get our names on a plaque or something?"

"I haven't asked about that," Xocoh told her. "I don't figure coyotes really get plaques often. Endowments, maybe--anyway," she went on, clearing her throat. "There's a standing offer to pay anyone for the salvage rights."

"Which we'd need to have. Recover some artifact from the ship, right?" Casey turned, poking the coyote's side. "We could do that, though, Dev. Right?"

"I don't know. We're not really equipped for salvage, and I don't have much experience in zero-g. Do you, 'yote?"

Xocoh shrugged, as though the question was of merely academic interest. "It's been a while. I could learn. We could dig up how the other Raman ships were salvaged, though, right? I haven't wanted to because I don't want the heat. But..."

"But." Devin acknowledged her point with a sigh. "I could pull that kinda information without triggering any alarms."

"Would be an interesting challenge for you, I bet, dear. Right? Whoever the surveyor was, he didn't have a coyote to help."

"'Help' is... one way of putting it." Devin leaned back. "The salvage itself might not be easy. Especially not if somebody does figure it out. If we have to buy equipment, and your name is associated with it, Xocoh..."

"I know," she admitted. "I've been sitting on this for a while, waiting for the right partners with the right sensibilities."

"Reasonable hobbies," Casey said, and prodded her partner's side. "Right?"

"Not just a hobby. It's enough money to completely overhaul the ship, Dev, and I mean 'completely.' New shields, new cargo bay stabilizers... Replace those scrap alignment channels with ones you can really push."

"Yeah?" That part had, of course, stood out to the jackal.

"Yeah. You could... I dunno, 'yote, what do you say? You could thrust twice as hard?"

Some of the engine parts had been borrowed from a larger, more powerful freighter, and the hardware connecting it was limited by the jerry-rigging. "We'd probably say 'twice as much thrust,' not 'thrust twice as hard.'"

The other coyote winked. "Universal translator glitch."

"You speak Standard, Xoc. Anyway. Yeah, okay. It would be a good haul, if it's a guaranteed payout. Sixteen million goes a long way. What's your cut?"

"Eight." Her grin stayed, although it took a conspiratorial edge: "It's a three-way split. Just us troublemakers. And if we need any equipment, I'll cover that--if you can keep my name and my accounts out of it."

"I could do that, yes. Depending on what you think you're going to wind up needing..."

It would be an excuse to get something interesting done in META. And working with a legitimate businessman like Mardan Sokol wouldn't likely get them into the same kind of trouble as Sjel-Kassar. And it took them away from a brewing conflict zone.

And what they actually hadn't done in a while, he reflected, was get in an adventure. As those went, Xocoh could probably be trusted not to get them killed. He hoped. "What do you think, Case? We haven't done anything fun in... what--"

"Two hours."

"Fun and dangerous, then, jackal. Dangerous like... say, doubling the number of coyotes on your ship you'd have to keep in line."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to make me have second thoughts?"

"Yes." He slid the data chip back across the table to Xoc. "Go get your stuff. We're in."