Mars was busy, with thousands of ships in orbit, and all of them leaving or waiting for landing clearance. Ten percent of these were massive cargo ships, bringing supplies and luxury items to a world that grew no food, the daily imports coming from the Tyrant's agri-worlds. Another eighty percent were mining ships and junk freighters bringing in ore from the great asteroid fields of the fringe, or mined on dark worlds far from any sun. Ships would land and disgorge their ore, exchanging it for a larger bank account. Often, that same bank account shrank when the ship entered the repair or upgrade bays of the great spaceports of Mars. Savvy captains put some cash aside for an emergency or to buy a second ship. But most ships were joint ventures with each crew member owning a share of the ship and its profits. Those ships always blasted off from Mars after the minimum of repairs were done, and made the short trip to Phobos and its casinos. A few days later, broke again, the still drunk crews would climb into their ships and head out into the black expanses of space to find more metal to sell to Mars. The universe was vast, and Mars had an endless appetite for metal.

  Repairs to a small ship could take ten to a hundred tons of raw ore, and constructing that ship in the first place would take ten thousand tons. Huge amounts compared to any terrestrial mining operation, but the ships that went out into the black were looking for asteroids with a high iron content, the remains of a planet's core. Such rocks could run as high as 50% iron content and make a ship's crew rich. But even a rock with only one part in ten being iron was worth grabbing with a tractor beam and hauling back to a deep space smelter to separate out the metal from the rock, leaving higher-grade ore that was easier to transport. The cost of this process was half the recovered metal. Both the miner and smelter operator sold the metal to buyers who loaded their freighters and took the loads of low-grade ingots to Mars for further refining, while the miners went looking for another rock.

  As long as a ship could make more than they spent on repairs, fuel, and beer, they could keep mining and continue the cycle. Piracy made the simple economics more difficult, cutting into the profits directly by taking over the ships or by forcing a ship to pay the cost of protection. Mercenary ships would hire out to patrol areas around a smelter, taking a share of the metal and charging the freighter captains a fee. This cut down on pirates in two ways: The pirates went elsewhere, and potential pirates were kept busy guarding the miners.

  Certain corporations were looking to insert themselves into the fringe in strategic places, operating smelters of their own and sending out mining fleets. If you didn't want to work for the big boys when they moved into your area, you moved elsewhere. Or went pirate. But trying to boost the cargo of a corp freighter, guarded by corp fighters, was a risky business. Few ships in the fringe had that sort of firepower, and as Mars produced more and more ships, the balance of power was shifting in favor of the corporations. The plucky bands of rebels in their rag-tag squadrons of outdated ships were worried. News had come to them that one of the big corps was building a capital ship with heavy armor and hundreds of guns, and a goal of taking over the best parts of the fringe nearest to the civilized planets.

  Raxxon was desperately trying to exploit its partial control of the Mars shipyards to the fullest. The loss of the Star Conqueror was a huge setback and was forcing Duke Archibald to make harsh choices. Count Edward had grudgingly agreed to raise funds for the next ship, Star Master, but was unhappy about it. It meant using his casino as collateral and agreeing to certain accommodations with the Ratengi Merchants League, but the Duke assured him that the Raxxon board was willing to put further finances into the game before the loans came due.

  They were in a tight position, but the generous gift of the smaller attack craft had helped them to regain positive cash flow. (If one ignored the looming loan payments.) More importantly, shipments of metal and raw ore were pouring into the great refineries of Mars, and crews of engineers and shipjacks were quickly putting the raw resources to use, building the engines, guns, and armor for the Star Master.

  Raxxon would build a new flagship next year, a beautiful ship that would have all the luxury accommodations of the lost Star Conqueror. Right now, they needed a ship that would shatter the pirate fleets and intimidate anyone else. Veteran SC6 players were hired for a focus group and asked to create designs for an upcoming expansion for the game. The unknown employer hinted heavily that they were working with the Claw Master design team on the project. The pay was good, and the old gamers were having a grand time using the new software systems provided to them to create their dream ships for the new universe. The schematics for all but one of the ships would be filed away as 'maybe next year,' and the plans for a large warship were given to Wayland Smith to begin construction.

  Star Master would be only 70% of the mass of the Tyrant's new yacht, much leaner in design. Gone were the movie theatre, wine cellar, spa, and opulent sitting rooms. Also gone was any pretext of being anything but a heavily armed warship. The 'triple-double' design for the engines was kept. With less mass, the ship would be even faster than before. Cargo space was cut to a minimum to accommodate more missile systems and ammunition storage. Four of the Graser mounts were upgraded to Heavy Grasers, and the main cargo bay had become a launch bay for six light attack craft, ideal for chasing down slower merchant vessels and ore miners, but with enough firepower to deal with a pirate vessel one-on-one. Only one concession was made to the plans: The Bar.

  "Why the hell do we have a bar that size on the ship? And if we need one, why does it have to be this design? The decor looks like some filthy dive out of a bad movie."

  The ship design specialist smiled. "Exactly what we were shooting for. We spared no expense to find those scarred wooden tables and chairs, chipped beer mugs, and mismatched lights. Rusted ship parts to make the bar added a nice touch. We had an easy time getting the load of crap we needed from the recycling bins, and the cracked mirror behind the bar used to be the main viewscreen from a Tarkas-class ship from the old Republic of Barsoom. Those four-arms made some great ships back in their day before they got kicked out by the Tyrant. This is the best seedy bar in the game, if I do say so myself."

  Duke Archibald looked hard at Mr. Zanderski, wondering if the man was crazed. "Yes, you succeeded in making a dirty, crappy bar, but why do we need one?"

  "Oh, for the hiring bonuses, crew morale, combat bonuses, and violence modifiers in a boarding action."

  The Duke stared at him.

  "Oh, you'd like an explanation? No problem. See, any large gathering place in SC6 can get a seedy bar. It's baked into all the lore. Pretty much a requirement if you want people to visit your asteroid base or hidden pirate hangout. The bars give special modifiers to how many skilled spacers show up to be hired, and how reliable they are after you've put them to work. The players get large bonuses to their skills and gain experience in them faster. The largest mining operations have at least one bar and maybe several. Players are even opening their own in hollowed-out asteroids that they turn into scavenger bases. Somehow, people hear about it and become available for ships to hire them on as extra crew. Star Master is bigger than most bases out in the fringe and qualifies as a location. By having a bar on the ship, Raxxon is guaranteed to have its pick of NPC crewmen, gunners, and shipjacks to hire. Plus, there are a lot of other benefits."

  The Duke was dubious, but he wasn't up on the small details of the game, especially this sort of thing. "What other benefits?"

  "Quite a few, actually. We've maximized The Rusty Comet to give the biggest bonuses possible, considering the constraints of putting it inside a ship. You'll get the following benefits: 100% more veteran spacers will apply for work. They will each come with a veteran-level expertise in either Gunner, Pilot, Repairs, or Engineering. Signing bonuses will be at the minimum for their expertise, and pay is only 80% of normal. But loyalty is 25% higher, and it'll go up to 50% higher loyalty if their pay is at 100%. And, they'll go berserk in fights when defending the ship or when assaulting pirates. Free alcohol within six hours of the fighting will increase the 25% damage bonus to 75% in all boarding actions. Players will get similar bonuses, and because of that, we can pay them half of what we pay the NPCs. Being on the winning side is a huge bonus to experience, and this ship could take on most of the pirates in the fringe and come out with minimal damage. I'd even suggest not fixing most of it, so we keep the Battlescarred perk."

  The Duke was running the numbers and liking what he heard. Crewing a ship properly was a big hassle. NPCs were preferred over players because of the loyalty issue.

  "That's impressive, and tells me why some of our takeover attempts of small mining operations got beaten off."

  "And that's not even the best part. Each crewmember can run a tab at the bar, and it comes out of their salary. Coupled with the card and craps tables, you may never have to pay the NPCs and make a profit off players as well. We always wanted to put a bar on a ship in the old days, but the ships were too small. The closest anyone got was towing a floating bar behind a fleet. The Star Master just barely has the room, and it counts as the crew's entertainment center, wellness center, and we can use it as a hospital after battles. I estimate that the ship will be 29% more efficient, resulting in 82% higher profits, and damage output will go up by 43%. Veteran gunners have huge modifiers."

  "Damn. Those are numbers I wish I could replicate in the real world. I approve of the changes in the plans. Get it done. I'm anxious to get into space with her and start blasting pirates."

  Zanderski was neither crew nor military, but he made a snappy salute, "Aye, aye, captain."

  Archibald was looking forward to playing captain on the Star Master, but his decision to command the ship had not gone over well with Count Edward. His younger cousin had thrown a fit when he'd found out a few days ago. He'd been livid, nearly turning purple.

  "That's my ship! That was the deal. You get the first ship, and I got the second."

  "That's still the deal, Eddie. Zeus....uh, benevolently accepted a gift from Raxxon, strengthening our position on Mars and its moons. It doesn't count. You get the next ship. And I need you on Phobos, running your casino. The cash from that operation will keep us going for two weeks while I get the largest load of ore anyone has ever seen and return with it. We're hitting all four of the smelting operations we know of and taking them over. They've got huge stockpiles of metals built up. We've been scaring off the merchants, blowing a few up, and spreading rumors of a new pirate group in the area. Trust me on this, cousin."

  "NO! You're a lying sack of shit, Archie! You conned me into taking out loans against the casino, specifically twisting my arm since it was for my ship. You're sticking me with work, paying off those loans, and keeping Mars afloat. So that you can go galivanting off to play Captain. I won't have it. I'm sick of that casino. I'm barely in charge now that the Ratengi Merchants Guild has their hooks into Phobos. I can't even stay there for more than a day, or I run out of bodyguards."

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  "They're quitting?"

  "No, dying. I never should have let you talk me into signing those agreements with them. I had to make Humble Merchant Skeevy Rathsoon my heir and promise to marry his daughter if the loan wasn't paid off in a year. Have you seen the Ratengi females? I don't want to snuggle up to someone with whiskers and sharp teeth! But other Ratengi think she's beautiful, and all her old boyfriends are trying to kill me. They already got me once! They poisoned my silk pillows, and I died the other night and woke up in my last clone. I don't have the funds to buy more clones, not at the cost they charge nobles, so I can't resurrect next time. If they get me one more time, I'll be declared dead and have to reroll my character. I'm not signing another piece of paper you give me without an in-game lawyer looking things over."

  "Yeah, well, there are other things you shouldn't have signed, like all the paperwork I have stipulating that you agreed to those deals. Go back on them, and I'll own Phobos as well as Mars. So suck it up, cousin. I'll be back soon, and we can pay off your father-in-law-to-be and get you out of that marriage."

  "If I'm still alive."

  "Well, that would get you out of the difficult job of running the casino, wouldn't it?"

  "Oh, you think you'd like that, don't you? If I lose this character permanently, then Merchant Skeevy becomes your heir, and you have to marry the lovely Verminia Rathsoon."

  They'd argued for an hour, rehashing every old slight. As he'd done when he was younger, Eddie had held his breath and stifled his screams of rage, something that had resulted in him passing out many times. Archie thought he was going to explode, but he actually let the anger go this time.

  "Don't think this is over. I still want my ship, and you still suck." He'd retreated to Phobos after that, barricading himself in his rooms when online, his only communication a few lines of text when he absolutely had to.

  Work progressed on Star Master. At 98% finished, she sat on a landing pad as crews finished her interior, loaded missiles, and what little cargo she would carry. Duke Archibald wished to create his own base out in the fringe from one of the smelting outposts. One of the last jobs was the hiring ceremony and swearing-in of the new crew. He'd had a special uniform made for himself just for the occasion, based upon the wardrobe of Admiral Horatio Nelson. Hat firmly on his head, brass buttons polished, he arrived at the Rusty Comet to an unpleasant sight. Mr. Zanderly was sitting at a table with signing papers in front of him and a box of iridium coins. A line of applicants wove back and forth across the room, waiting their turn to sign, take their ceremonial coin, and head for the bars and gaming tables.

  The smell hit him first. Two hundred unwashed spacers who worked hard, fought hard, and drank hard. Laundry wasn't in their list of skills. He took a step towards the table, and his feet stuck to the floor with each step from the accumulated spilled beer. Barely holding his temper, he pulled Zanderly aside. "What is the meaning of this?"

  The man dared to smile. "Great, isn't it? The Ratengi dealers from the casino set up this morning, and the bartenders got to work, splashing the floor with the worst beer we could buy. It smells like heaven to these guys. We're signing up the cream of the crop of available spacers and already turning a profit at the gaming tables and bars."

  "Dear lord, how long do I have to stay here? What do you need me to do?"

  "Oh, only a few hours. Just stand and look captainly and nod to each man as he takes his coin. That's good for +5% to their morale. We'll be out of beer by the time the line winds down, and the crew will head out to the dives around the spaceport for more grog. They'll be back in two days for the last minute run-throughs and double-checks, we'll load the last of the supplies, and you can take off for some adventures."

  The Duke thought of leaving, but the heavy, dark beer was so sticky that he was afraid of falling over if he walked. He stood in place for nearly five hours, nodding and smiling. That was something he'd learned to do as a junior executive, and it came back to him quickly. When everything was over, his bodyguards helped him off the ship. The first thing he did after that was gather his staff.

  "I need things done by the time for take off. Firstly, fumigate the ship. Then I want twenty portable showers brought in, and every man on the ship cleans himself up and gets a new set of spacer's coveralls. They can keep their own stuff, but I want it bagged and sent to the laundry and then their quarters. Finally, clean up that bar, it's a disgrace. We have their signatures, and the party's over. Snap too it. And any word from Count Edward?"

  "He sent a message, sir. 'See you soon.' That was it. I assume he'll make it in time for the launching ceremony."

  "I suppose that's all I can hope for. Notify me as soon as he's here."

  The next morning, far too early, the Duke was awakened in the real world by a harried member of his household staff. "What the hell is going on?"

  "Your office called, sir. In a panic. They need you online, immediately. Some problem with shipping?"

  "Shipping? The Ship?! Dammit, this better not be Zeus trying to steal another from us." Fear drove him to dive into his pod still wearing his pajamas. He awoke and ran to the briefing room, finding his staff staring at a viewscreen that showed the face of his cousin, Count Edward. He was lounging on a chair that could only be the captain's chair on the command deck of the Star Master. Another screen showed the empty landing dock where the Star Master had recently been sitting. The metal was still red hot from taking off.

  "Greetings, Cousin. Since you weren't feeling like honoring our deal, I took it upon myself to make things right."

  "Eddie?!..."

  "Tut, tut, Duke Archibald, please remember who you are addressing. My proper title is Captain Edward Starmaster, first Count of Phobos. Try to remember that."

  "What have you done? How did you steal the ship?"

  "Steal? No, this is totally legal by the Laws of Space. Bad move with the showers and taking the lads' uniforms. They're very attached to them. I heard some grumbling at the casino, and we had a little talk. The Brotherhood of Spacers convened an emergency meeting to discuss your transgressions, and you were tried in absentia and found guilty of various crimes, after which they elected me Captain, since Raxxon still owns the ship. But I promised to share 10% of after after-tax profits with the crew. That and letting them drink the bar empty last night did the trick. It wasn't hard to board the ship since I had the codes for it."

  "You won't get away with this!"

  "With what? The plan is mostly the same, just a small change in who is the Captain. I'm sure you'll do a fine job of running Mars and taking care of the casino. I'll be back in a week with a load of metal from the first two smelter sites to pay off the loan. Oh, and it's due a week early. I had to hit up my father-in-law-to-be for some extra cash to make the boys happy last night. That crew you hired can really drink. Oh, and they weren't happy about the state of the bar. Smells too clean. They were holding their noses and complaining about the 'dreadful pong' when they first boarded."

  The Duke was about to say something, but the double doors behind Captain Edward opened, and a dozen angry Drogan mercenaries entered the bridge, led by a snarling Ratengi in a battle-scarred armored space suit, a sure sign he was a veteran of many boarding parties. There was a gleam in his one good eye; the other was missing, replaced by a cybernetic implant. That side of his face also bore a set of three long scars made by the claws of some alien creature. He had a heavy pulsar pistol in his hand, another favorite of boarding parties.

  Captain Edward turned as the spacers entered and fanned out around the room, the two navigators, science officer, and coms officer giving up immediately. Stalking up to the scarred Ratengi, Count Edward raised his voice, "What is the meaning of this? I'm in a very important conversation."

  The Ratengi backhanded him, a blow amplified by his suit. The force knocked Edward to the floor, stunning him. His attacker grabbed his tunic, pulling him partially up, the pistols against his head. "Where did you hide the beer? The taps are dry, and the boys are thirsty. They sent me to negotiate the release of our alcohol."

  Edward looked confused. "Beer? I didn't do anything? It's in the bar."

  His answer wasn't to anyone's liking. The Ratengi smashed the butt of the heavy pistol across his face. "Wrong answer. Where's the beer?"

  From behind the Duke, Mr. Zanderly said, a note of alarm in his voice. "Oh no, they took off early. The beer was still in transit. There isn't a drop of alcohol on the ship." His remarks were overheard by the angry people on the bridge of the Starmaster, who began yelling.

  The Ratengi fired his pistol in the air. "Put a cork in it, I need to think." He turned to the screen and pointed at the Duke and Mr. Zanderly. "Is that true? No booze at all?"

  Everyone looked at the mild-mannered human, who was normally never upset by anything. He was very flustered now. "No, we had a complete restock coming later today."

  The Duke smiled, it was the opening he needed, "Just a small understanding. And all Captain Edwards' fault. Just turn the ship around, and I'll come aboard with the beer. In fact, we'll load extra, with a 20% discount for the next two months."

  The Ratengi considered, his large ears flaring several times. "20% bar discount? So generous, but I think that Rules of Acquisition number 173: "Never trust a man who wants to clean things up," applies in this situation. Sorry, your Dookie-ship, but not a man in this tub would ever serve under you. And since little lord Eddie here can't even remember the beer, he's not fit for command either." He turned to the crowd spilling onto the bridge.

  "What say you, Brother Spacers? Who will lead you? Let the best man step forward." That question resulted in several people nominating themselves or friends, and several hands were raised with no one having anywhere near a majority. The Ratengi sighed. "Should have seen that coming."

  He turned and shot Edward in the head, then pointed the gun at the roof. "Maybe I wasn't clear. I'm taking over as captain. Get a still set up in engineering, find a drum of cleaning fluid, and separate out the alcohol. I want to be dead drunk by the end of the day. Get to it."

  This time, there was no arguing, and everyone seemed happy with the situation; all but half a dozen of the spacers left the bridge. From Mars, the Duke was screaming. The new Captain turned and glared at him. "By the Laws of Space, I'm claiming this ship as my own. You aren't fit to command a fine vessel like this. Suck vacuum, you damned corporate vampire!" The screen on Mars went black.

  On the Star Master, Captain Madrat looked at the four officers. "You've got a choice. Turn Pi-rat, or get dumped off on the first neutral spot with life support. Who's staying?"

  The four players looked at each other, then one said, "We signed up to see the Galaxy. We're in."

  The Captain smiled, showing several iridium teeth. "Excellent. We'll talk more later. Navigators, set a course for Hanigan's Hangout and Smeltery. It's the closest place to pick up a load of booze. You other two, dispose of your former captain and get a mop. He made a mess of things." Then he sat in the padded chair, finding it to his liking. "And find out where they hid the cheese."