Macon watched the men from the card table leave the bar, stumbling home drunk. The sign turned off soon after. Judge was convinced the barmaid was their smuggler. Macon didn't think she looked like much. Her accent was so thick he'd barely understood her at first.

He caught his reflection in the glass of the storefront next to him. He looked rough, scraggly; they all did. They'd been out, lost to the black for weeks and barely made it back. The barmaid had been right about that - no one smart went out there. They'd barely survived it and they hadn't been a day's flight from the empire's border.

But there were rumors of this lady smuggler that rode her scores in and out like it was nothing. There was nothing but whispers about her out there. The minute one of them had shown interest in a story, lips sealed up tighter than an air lock. This wasn't the first mine town they'd checked out and Macon didn't think it'd be the last.

Until he saw the barmaid slip out from the back door, bags in hand. Macon cursed under his breath and called Judge.

"She's moving alright. Packed and everything."

Judge laughed into the receiver. "Told ya. She had a fire in her eyes. Ain't no backwater barmaid got need for fire."

Macon just grunted.

"Follow her. We'll meet you when she stops running."

Macon disconnected after that. She looked to be headed towards the port, probably hopping the first ship out of town. Such a small place like this couldn't have much in the way of traffic, but depending on where she was going, he could be on her trail for a week or more; chasing a barmaid he was half convinced was just too scared to stick around.

There wasn't much to the town, one main road with a couple smaller streets, and a good handful of alleys, and the girl made an easy mark to follow. She took the main road, heading straight, never looking back to see Macon following in the shadows. She went straight into the port hall and right up to the counter.

There was only one ship leaving that day, which Macon thanked his luck for. It gave him the time he needed to duck away, back to the motel the girl had recommended, where the others waited.

"She went straight to the port, never checked to see if anyone was following her," Macon said by way of greeting. "I'm not sure we got the right girl here. No smuggler gets through the black without checking their backs once."

Judge wasn't in the sitting room, only Jace and Silas. Both sat there smoking danos, showered, shaved, and wearing someone else's overalls. Macon stopped short when he saw their clothes.

"What the hell you all wearing?"

"Judge says we gotta blend in. Empire space and all that," Silas waved his hand at Macon.

"Doesn't explain the work clothes. You could pass for honest men."

Jace barked out a laugh. "Wait till you see what we got you."

Macon narrowed his eyes.

Jace continued, unimpressed with Macon's glare, "only had three miners to follow home. Silas grabbed some monkey suit for you to wear." He waved at a pile of clothes on the table Macon hadn't noticed. There was a razor and towel on top of the pile. "Clean up."

Macon wanted to complain, just on the principle of the thing, but a shower and clean clothes sounded too nice. They'd all lived a little rough at times, but the black was a hell Macon hadn't even imagined. He wasn't looking forward to heading back there, guide or no guide.

"We got a couple hours before the shippers leave. Find some food," he called to his friends as he grabbed the clothes and went to bathe.