The children stopped playing as we passed, silence moving ahead of us like a wave. Adults reached out from behind steel slabs to grab their kids, saw us, nodded to Riina, and let them be. The kids didn't object at being stopped in their play. These people were used to running. Very used.

  I glanced into the dwellings we passed. Steel beds, welded together from scraps. Occasional tables, chairs. No shelves, only open suitcases and stuffed backpacks. The soft color scheme continued, with pale greens, subdued greys, dark ochers and umbers. Everything was sparse, except the smells. Pots bubbled over electric heaters, sending streams of steam dancing into the air.

  The smells were amazing. Ginger. Cumin. Turmeric. Cloves. Mustard.

  Strong, black tea.

  Black as night, a steel pot full, and a steaming glass jug next to it. Tea essence, and water to dilute it to taste. I stopped, gawking, and almost asked for a cup but restrained myself. I'm not one to barge in and claim hospitality that isn't freely given.

  I caught Riina studying me with a thoughtful tilt to her head. She gave me a small nod, as if approving, then lead us onward.

  There was a pit at the center of the Downbellow-town, a two-meter-wide hole carved from the steel floor. It must have taken ages, the hole was at least three meters deep. I didn't see any of the tell-tale rough spots of warded digging either. These people had filed, drilled, or etched the hole by hand. It was either an amazing display of determination or pure voidmunching stupidity.

  A thread of thumb-sized detonators surrounded it, spaced along the edge.

  Of course. The hole was a pirate airlock. Trigger the detonators and the center blew off, creating an opening in the ceiling of the level below. Rows of tightly coiled rope ladders and drop harnesses surrounded the hole.

  Escape hatch. These people were prepared to flee at a moment's notice. Not that many of them would make it down, especially if the next level had a hundred-meter-high ceiling.

  "Who are you people?" I said.

  "Maiko will explain," Riina said, her voice a soothing sing-song.

  "And who's Maiko?" I said.

  "I am."

  A man, not quite Riina's age but close, came walking up to us. Close-cropped white hair, big, muscled arms, raised chin. He wore a thick coverall in a muted denim blue, but it felt incongruous on him. Like Riina, he had an air of command, and the four younger men that flanked him looked like a bodyguard. They even had matching light brown shirts above black pants. A uniformed bodyguard.

  But an un-armed one. No guns, no knives. Not even a club. Maybe he didn't need it in Downbellow-town.

  The man, Maiko, stared at me. Not unfriendly, but rather like a merchant would stare at a pile of gold, trying to estimate its value. Or a colonel would stare at a raw recruit, trying to estimate his worth. It made me feel like an ant splayed beneath a microscope.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "You have a ship," Maiko said. No preamble, all business. "A serviceable one."

  It annoyed me. The Bucket is mine, and only mine. And I didn't like his describing it as merely serviceable.

  "Was that a question?" I said. "Or am I supposed to bow and say 'yes, master'?"

  Maiko opened his mouth, shut it, frowned. Not used to being opposed. His chest puffed out, his nose went up. I'd seen that look on junior lecturers about to rip into some hapless freshman.

  "He is in his right," Riina interrupted. "You have lost your manners."

  Maiko gave her an annoyed glare, then sighed and rubbed his eyes with the flats of his palms. His entire stance deflated, as if she'd pulled his power cord. It added another twenty years to my estimate of his age.

  "My apologies," he said. "I thought..." His voice trailed away. He had the same singing cadence to his words as Riina. A drop of water splashed down on my shoulder. The entire domed area was hot and damp. "I thought you had come to take us away," Maiko said.

  "He's not one of us," Riina said.

  "I could have sworn-" Maiko began.

  "So could I," Riina said.

  "Who are us?" Hao interrupted.

  That got a small smile out of Riina.

  "That is a long story," Riina said. "Best told slowly over a friendly dinner. But we haven't the time, nor the dinner. We are from Santa Kylie. We used to be welcome, and now we aren't. We thought that you were one of us, that you had found a way to get us all off this station and somewhere we could thrive. When you attacked the masecs, we were convinced. Apparently, we were wrong. Which puts us in a strange situation, seeing how you have been invited to our home, but the secrecy of us being here is the only thing that keeps us somewhat safe."

  "Meaning," said Maiko, "that we are in the delicate position of having to negotiate transportation while you hold a lot of the cards. I am Maiko Ristvarii."

  Maiko held out his fist to be bumped. I noted that he didn't say all the cards. I also noted that he didn't try to threaten me, which was a positive in my logs. I bumped his fist gently with my own.

  "Jake Tomlin," I said.

  Hao raised a bushy eyebrow at that, but she didn't comment. Good to have crew that can accept your decisions and follow your lead. We'd have to talk about it later.

  "How about you start with an explanation," I said, turning my attention back to Maiko. "Who are the masecs?"

  "The Matadors of Security," Riina said. "One of the secs. You beat them up when they tried to shoot Kimu."

  "What's a matador?" Hao said.

  "Some type of animal," I said. "Killed cows."

  "Only the bulls, I believe," Maiko said. "The cows were the females. Here, the bulls are us."

  "Bullhorns," I said.

  "Hoof, hoof," Maiko said, making horns with his fingers next to his head. "Or heef, heef. I'm no expert on the sounds of mythical beasts."

  I almost looked it up, before realizing that my com location would bounce against the Rimont station com, and be logged. None of the Santa Kylians had any visible coms. Suddenly, I understood why the port authority inspectors had wanted to put a trace on my gun.

  "The secs have friends in high places," I said.

  "True," Riina said. "They were nothing but gangs when my children grew up. Now they are a power. And we recycle our friends and children almost every day."

  "Until we hid away," Maiko said. "Or to put it bluntly, were evicted from our homes on the higher levels, and down into sec territory. Which was when we needed to hide away."

  "Here in Downbellow-town," I said.

  I looked at the surroundings. The dome of metal trash was close to fifty meters across. About eight thousand square meters. Assume twenty square meters for each dwelling, with four persons living in each. Two thousand people. I might squeeze two thousand into the Bucket's hold, if they were all standing up.

  They'd overload the air-scrubbers in hours. And then they'd start dying.

  "Here and other places," Maiko said. "Close to ten thousand of us, that we know of."

  "No," I said.

  A glimmer of confusion danced over Maiko's face, wiped away so quickly I almost missed it.

  "No, what?" he said.

  "No, I can't do it," I said. "The Bucket might fit three hundred, if they were willing to live rough, sleep standing up, and breathe shallowly."

  Maiko nodded, his head bobbing slowly as if he was nodding to himself. Riina sighed.

  "Hope is the last thing to go," she said.

  "That it is," Maiko replied.

  And I realized that I really, really wanted to help these people.