A Lithe Hope— An unexpected name for a rocket ship, but it was the one Alden Connors settled on. It should be called “A Ragged Hope” now, but Alden wouldn’t besmirch his cosmic slagged beauty with a cosmetic touch up— she was beautiful the way she was. Alden had survived thirty seven skirmishes, eight ambushes, and two galactic wars. He followed the rules passed down to him from his grandfather after his time in the Crimson Legion.

1) Never turn your back on Deep Space.

2) Your first mate is your best hope.

3) Don’t die with any ammo left.

Alden hadn’t had to test the third one yet, but he hoped he’d get another run at the Chavirari tentacle tank before that happened. He had four million galactic chits to win back. He stilled owed his first mate, Suhel, for the Vinaldi race that put him in the hole in the first place. Alden knew he shouldn’t bet against a crewman— even Suhel. But he couldn’t ignore the feeling he had in his gut— turned out to be the rancid Tengiri flakes in his rice.

The most recent job took Alden and A Lithe Hope into Grenden territory. Long known as the gnolls of the dark spots of space, the Grenden cannibalized any craft they managed to hunt down. Alden knew of an old federation pilot that survived a Grenden raid by hiding in the water tanks before being jettisoned to the closest planet— thankfully he was returning from a space op— so he was still suited up. He claimed the Grenden spoke a language not found in the galactic codex. He tried to record it— but his translator and recorder were damaged in his initial escape. Alden wasn’t sure if the account held water, but he knew it couldn’t be ignored. If the Grenden were capable of hiding an entire language from the federation— what else were they capable of? Alden worried about the settlements on the outer rims— they wouldn’t find salvation— even if they managed to fire their beacons. The federation would never reach them in time— not for the threat a secretly coordinated Grenden posed.

Alden’s sister still lived on one of Farrix’s moons. Her small family was embedded with the local militia that repelled the Voron threat after the lax Grenden years. Lia was tougher than Alden— he knew she’d be fine. He still fidgeted with his family signet ring when he thought of her though. She was the only one left after their grandfather passed away. He still wondered why she let him take the ship. It was her birthright— but she passed it over to him and he never looked back. After he realized no one was tracking his movements— Alden drifted off the galactic map and found the pockets of space dust and mischief he was searching for.

Now, he found himself short of credits and full of experience— which meant another trip to Jago’s boards. Long reputed as the least trustworthy man in the galaxy— Jago Ventura owned the trading rights to seven galactic ports. Running a job for Jago meant violence and delays— but the man paid in full. And even worse, his daughter was Alden’s favorite midnight wish amongst the stars. Vox forbid Jago learn about him and Mayte. He only had one starship and couldn’t afford to have it destroyed by a blackmarket kingpin.