Chapter 7: Who Should They Trust?

The salvage yard was a maze of half-stripped carcasses and rusted container walls, lit by the sickly orange glow of emergency lamps. Alex moved through it like he'd done it a thousand times, weaving between piles of scrap mech limbs and rain-barrel fuel tanks, Eli trailing at his shoulder in the borrowed coveralls.

They stopped at a container that looked exactly like every other container. Same rust. Same dents. Same faded radiation warning stenciled across the door. Alex knocked twice, paused, knocked once, and then twice more.

For a long moment nothing happened. Then the entire wall slid sideways on greased rails, revealing a narrow passage lit from within. Warm light. The smell of coffee.

"After you," Alex said.

Eli hesitated. "This is where your friend lives?"

"He's not my friend." Alex stepped through the hatch. "He's the person I hate most in the entire solar system."

"But you came to him for help."

"Exactly. Hate keeps you honest."

Inside, the container opened into a workshop that went far deeper than one container should. Welded-together shipping crates formed a long, cluttered den packed with humming server racks, glowing holo-displays, and enough confiscated tech to arm a small militia. At the center of it all sat a wiry man in a grease-stained jacket, boots up on a console, sipping something dark from a chipped mug.

He was in his late fifties, with gray hair cropped short and a scar that split his left eyebrow clean in two. His face had spent decades learning to show nothing, and it still mostly succeeded. When he saw Alex, the corner of his mouth twitched anyway.

"Well, well." He set down the mug. "The phantom of Pinnacle Station. I saw the feed, kid. You slapped Brick Callahan like he owed you money. My only regret is I wasn't there in person."

"I'm still mad about that dress, Conrad."

"Mm. But you're alive, so the dress worked."

Alex hooked a thumb at Eli. "Conrad, this is Eli. Eli, this is Conrad. The person I hate most in the solar system."

Conrad's gaze swept over Eli, taking in the coveralls, the too-young face, the way he stood like a man waiting for the floor to drop out from under him. He stood, crossed the room, and offered his hand.

"Eli. I'd say it's a pleasure, but in my experience, anyone Alex …