Mayden Station, Northwest Fringe

 Red Giant Mayden casts the ship in an eerie scarlet glow. For those who have never been to the system before, the shock of watching blood-red light pour from the windows of their vessel after their liminal shutters pull back causes many to panic when first entering. To Dell Caliger, however, the red glow only causes him to grunt and roll over in his cockpit seat.

Dell's a grumlian, a short and stout humanoid with hairy arms and a long, strong tail that acts as a third arm. His kind is common in these parts but often overlooked, leading to the issue of everything being just a little too big for him. Dell doesn't mind, though; the extra space the seat provides makes it the ideal spot to take a nap.

While curled up in the pilot's chair, the Providence's autopilot gets to work, the flight into Mayden station having been done so many times from so many different angles that Dell had the thing pre-programmed into the system. As the Pony Freighter sails toward the colossal colony station, a beeping from the center console can be heard, waking Dell slightly. Grumbling, he rolls over, his tail finding the receiver.

"Good evening, the crew of the - Providence -" The artificial voice of the station's guidance android greeted the ship, "Please follow the flight path projected to you, now! And please, do keep weapon systems offline." There is a pause before a new voice joins in, accompanied by music, "Have you heard of the new sensation sweeping the station?! It's Black Hole--"

Dell cuts the transmission before the ad can be read. He then curls back up on the seat and starts to snooze again when a second transmission starts. Finally, he rolls over, eyes containing a bit of anger, and sits up and answers the call.

"Providence, this is Mayden Control," This voice wasn't artificial and sounded rather displeased, "Please divert to the new vector being provided now."

Dell rubs the sleep out of his eyes, blinking a few more times for good measure, then asks, "Why?"

"Prisoner pick up." The voice answers.

"Right, shit, my bad," Dell interrupts, still groggy, "Following your vector to the letter. We'll have Vinnie ready for you."

"Right." The voice then cuts off the transmission.

Dell grumbles, "Gah damn security. Waking me up from my void damned nap."

Compared to other ships that sail near it, the Providence stands out purely due to its age. Pony Freighters are rare; their boxy hauls, bubble cockpits, and twin ion engines harken back to older times. They were made during the Second Rearmament, a time when military spending led to vast fleets of warships and mountains of arms being built up to give the Coalition's Peacekeeper fleets a new set of teeth. Yet those days are long past; most of them were sold off in auctions for pennies on the cred, hence how Dell and Domitia settled for the Providence.

Dell takes a moment to gaze upon Mayden Station, the colossal colony still filling him with awe. Mayden Station had its foundations upon what might've been a moon of a long-gone planet. The station now sprawls out into the void in titanic spires that act as docks for the numerous craft that regularly arrive and depart. It's difficult to gauge the population of Mayden station. However, humble estimates put the permanent residents at around thirty to forty million souls, making it the largest population center in twenty light years.

Most of the population in the Northwestern Fringe are nomadic - traveling from job to job, colony to colony, station to station. Settled worlds are few and far between, with populations barely scraping by on hostile, alien worlds. As a result, stations like Mayden are considered the ideal way to live. Still, the feeling of natural air in his lungs is unbeatable to Dell.

Maneuvering his craft along the predetermined vector, he picks up the internal com and speaks to the tranquil giant residing in the lower deck, "Hey, Dom, better wake up. Security is about to board."

Dell doesn't wait for a reply, he already knows his partner is a woman of few words, so he switches the internal com off and turns on the Mayden net broadcast to break the silence. After flipping through a few channels, he eventually finds one playing music. He sighs, letting the soft, somber tone of the brass instruments fill the cockpit.

As Dell pilots the ship, Domitia rises from her meditation. The Bellator rolls her shoulders, feeling the knots and the pangs of old scars return after losing them deep in thought. Then, cracking her knuckles, she walks to the weapon rack in her room and grabs her sidearm. The room is spartan, with a bed in one corner, a closet for her few outfits, and a weapon rack. The only luxury in her room is a large television placed against the far wall, with a stack of reels next to it and a single cushion for her to sit on.

After checking and rechecking her hand cannon, she holsters it and makes her way to the hold where they keep their bounties. Ducking through corridors, Domitia is reminded how quiet the Providence can be while out in the void. The only sounds to be heard are the soft sound of jazz coming from the cockpit, the hum of the ion engines, and the click-clang of her boots.

Walking down the ship's main hall, she eventually comes to the prisoner's hold. Pulling a key from her jacket pocket, she takes off the padlock and enters the passcode into the makeshift cell. Inside are all the amenities a prisoner could want - a toilet, bed, and a couple of days worth of food and water. Vinnie lies on that aforementioned bed, wilted and defeated. 

His face pales upon seeing Domitia.

"You." He leans up, pausing as Domitia puts a hand on her sidearm, shaking her head, "Right. Against the wall. I've done this before, babe."

Domitia rolls her eyes and waits for her prisoner to place himself against the wall, hands flat against it. Domitia is strong; being a Bellator, she’s adequately augmented to wear her war suit even if it had no power. That said, Vinnie’s augged to the gills himself; most of his body has either cybernetics or synthetic muscle to support said cybernetics that put him on the same level of strength as Domitia. Yet a bullet to the head will still kill anyone, and Domitia still holds the gun, so she controls the situation for the moment.

"Ready to hit the slammer again, Vincent?" Domitia asks as she slaps the reinforced mag cuffs on him. The magnetic grip of the cuffs acts as a far more secure method of holding powerful prisoners.

"You know? I was just starting to miss it," He replies as Domitia leads him out of the cell and into the main hall, "Where'd you take me anyway?"

"Mayden."

"Ah, that makes sense; I got a lot of buddies on the inside. Don't think I'll be in there for too long." Vinnie says with a chuckle.

"Mhm."

"Not much of a talker, are ya?"

Domitia shakes her head. It's while guiding the prisoner to the airlock that Domitia notices something. She spies an oddly shaped burn on his lower neck, scarring some of the only remaining organic skin on him. It takes her a moment, but she realizes it's the shape of three falling stars.

"Then you ain't interested in hearing out my deal?" Vinnie gives Domitia a glance over his shoulder.

"Eyes forward," Domitia says sternly, giving the pirate a flick on the ear.

"Right, right... Wouldn't wanna know where Jericho Flynt is?"

Domitia chuckles at that.

"What? Don't believe me?"

Jericho Flynt was THE pirate. The iconic rebel that led the Fallen Stars, a fleet numbering in the hundreds that plundered hundreds of stations and even worlds. He was credited for launching the careers of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of wanna-be pirate kings, yet none ever reached his level of fame. Such was his fame that the Coalition took notice and raised a Peacekeeper fleet to hunt him down. The War of Fallen Stars lasted far longer than expected, for pirates tended to meet their end quickly once the Coalition finally got past its own red tape to deal with a problem. Yet, it took nearly two decades to end Flynt. His flagship, Firebrand, met its end in the Middle Ring, deep in the void. He was declared dead, but his bounty was never taken down. This was because no corpse was ever recovered, so speculation rose. Pretenders came and went, and the Bounty Board kept his bounty, nearly ten million creds, enough to buy four Pony Freighters.

"Of course, no one believes ol' Vinnie," The pirate shakes his head, "I can tell you he's alive. Promise you, even."

"Mhm." Domitia turns Vinnie around, placing him on the ground, back against the wall. "Have a seat."

"If you let me off the hook, I can tell you where he is." But Vinnie insists, "C'mon? You said it yourself. I'll be out and about within a cycle or two. So what's the harm?"

"We don't get paid."

"And you can make a hundred times more off Flynt's head than mine!" Vinnie says.

"Boarding party will be here soon," Dell says, coming into the hall, "What's this about a hundred times more?"

"Flynt!" Vinnie reiterates, "I know him."

Dell guffaws, "Fat chance. You're a low-level loser, Vinnie; you really think we're gonna buy it?"

"I was there, damn it!" Vinnie says, "Saw the thing go up! Firebrand got split down the middle by plasma torpedoes!"

Dell retorts, "Fallen Stars died forty years ago; you're pretty spry looking for a vet."

"Augs'll do that to ya; your friend oughta know."

Domitia rolls her eyes, "Give us a taste then."

"Think I'll just tell you?" Vinnie asks rhetorically, then rippling travels through the ship, "Besides, my ride's here."

The airlock to the Providence opens, and three void-armored Mayden Control Officers march in; their blue and black armor shines like it's been recently polished. The lead one nods to the one on their left, who marches over to Vinnie with a device shaped like a gun; a large, thin needle takes the place of the barrel. The leader comes up to Domitia and Dell as their visor retracts, revealing the feline features of a felious.

"License, please." The officer demands.

Dell and Domitia comply, producing their IDs. While Domitia stays quiet, Dell can't help but make small talk.

"So, anything going on station side?

"Check him." The felious orders.

The officer with the needle gun kneels next to Vinne and orders, "Hold still, pirate."

"Right... hate this part." Vinnie gripes.

The needle is inserted right into the collarbone of the pirate, and a grunt of pain follows the needle's exit as the officers make sure to slap a bandage over the wound. After a few moments, the device the needle is attached to chimes softly. The officer gives the nod to the felious.

"Match."

"Pick him up, sit him down in his cell," The officer turns back to Domitia and Dell, handing them a ticket, "Don't cause trouble."

Dell chuckles, "No promises, ma'am."

The felious narrows her eyes on the two of them before turning around. Vinnie takes one last look over his shoulder, grinning.

"Just threw away ten million!" The pirate is given a slap on the face and forced forward.

After the officers leave the door, Dell sighs, "Well, after fees, we'll have around sixty that'll cover food, repairs, and maybe we can restock. Still just scraping by..." He looks back to his partner, raising an eyebrow, "I know that look. What's on your mind."

Domitia, still looking at the airlock, sighs, "I don't believe he was lying."

"What?"

"You heard me," The Bellator taps the back of her neck, "Has the falling stars on his neck."

"Who gives a shit," Dell retorts, "Fucking every pirate has those; it's like a hooker having a tramp stamp."

"It wasn't a tattoo, Dell; it was a brand."

Dell pauses, thinking for a moment, before running a hand through his hair, "Oh, well. That's... Interesting. You get a good enough look?"

"Didn't need to; the tails were the right shape." Domitia says, "Still. Could be faked."

"Oh yeah, definitely." Dell rubs his nose, "But what if..."

"You ever get a full look into his file?"

"Nah, you know how uptight they are about us lowly bounty hunters having access to official records." Dell says, leaning against the bulkhead, "You know..." He takes a comb out of his pocket and runs it through his hair a few times, "I got a buddy of mine station side... Might be able to help us out."

"Think he'd be willing?" Domitia asks.

"Probably." Dell says, a waver betraying his uncertainty, "Regardless, he owes me, so even if he doesn't, I'll make him. It's ten million creds; I'm willing to get my hands a little dirty."

Domitia snaps her fingers, pointing her index at Dell, "Not too dirty. Mayden station has been good to us. Wouldn't want to ruin it."

"I..." Dell raises a hand up, "Promise."

"Do you?"

Dell shrugs, "I'll do my best."