There were fourteen of them, each carried a rucksack over their shoulder filled to the brim with military grade equipment. They wore dark green combat fatigues, camouflaged netted helmets, and tan combat vests. While all their sidearms had been stowed away, Journey could see they each of them wore the regimental patch of a Federation army unit. 

      To her, the patch looked like flaming pickaxe raised over a skull. She wouldn’t know that it was the regimental seal of the Trench Levy of Flottenhast. She also wouldn’t know that their entire regiment was wiped out nearly to the man in combat, and these fourteen soldiers were the last of an old breed. 

      She couldn’t help but stare at their commander. The leader of the Trench Levy was beautiful, despite the scars and burn marks on the woman’s neck and cheeks. She was tall, with thin red hair and bright blue eyes. The veteran leader was the only one wearing something other than standard military uniform. Her nano-mesh body glove settled over her voluptuous curves, while a cyber linked plasma rifle was strung over her back. 

      Journey Chase watched through thick glass frames, as the fourteen mercenaries walked down the hall. They carried an aura about them that would fuel many a bed time story for the stations inhabitants. Galli wasn’t unused to foreigners coming and going. But rarely had they the look of death and unspeakable trauma about them. 

      They didn’t seem anything like the propaganda leaflets used for recruitment adds. They each had cold dark eyes, and it was almost mechanical how they marched in sync.

      It reminded Journey of how her brother used to pretend to march back home. Once the small mercenary band had passed, she resisted the urge to follow them. Journey already had an idea as to where they were going, and if she was lucky she wouldn’t be far behind. 

      It took three months of jumping from one station to the next, spending her life savings to get this far, to finally arrive at Galli. If only her wallet hadn’t run dry, she was just one step away from finally taking the next step toward her intended destination. 

      Four months ago, Journey learned about the colony ship about to leave for the illegal settlement of Sinmore. Originally, she planned to paying for a spot on the ship. Once it became evident that that would be impossible, especially now that she was penniless, Journey resigned herself to the idea of becoming a stowaway. 

      If only it were so easy. Finding a way to sneak aboard the massive freighter proved more difficult than she imagined. Journey was shocked to learn just how well guarded the colony transport was, with a small army of drones circling it at all times. Still, she wasn’t willing to give up hope. She would find a way aboard the ship, no matter the cost.

      Sinmore, a world beyond the borders of Federation space, was calling for aid. It’s colonists had discovered the garden world completely by chance. Not wanting to reveal their discovery, they destroyed their long range transmitter, and formed a completely independent colony devoid of Federation laws. 

      Needless to say, they couldn’t keep their secret for long.

      Once the Federation discovered the colony, they dispatched a colonial brigade to seize control. The result was a long and bloody war that had lasted for the better part of a decade. Out on the fringes of space, in the periphery of Federation notice, the interstellar empire hadn’t the time or resources to manage an efficient campaign. Instead they continued to send regiments in dips and dabs. The length of the ongoing war sparked outrage among the independent colonies, colonies like Journey’s own home world of Theia. 

      Her brother had joined a mercenary company to fight on behalf of the colonists, and Journey hadn’t heard from him since. For three years she waited to hear from her estranged sibling, until one day Journey realized she finally had enough. Once she turned eighteen standard, she invested the entirety of her savings to finding her brother.

      Galli wasn’t a place she enjoyed. It smelled like an open sewer, and clearly hadn’t undergone any sanitization standards for some time. Journey noticed the people living here had learned how to grow mushrooms on the interior of their moldy station. Judging by the residents pallid skin tones, and lean physiques, their home grown food sources weren’t doing them much good.

      Journey Chase sighed, she took one last look at the mercenaries marching down the halls, and began walking toward the opposite direction. She hoped they were fighting on behalf of the colonists, it wouldn’t be the first time a Federation regiment switched sides. 

      There was a time when Journey wanted to be a soldier, despite her brothers pleas. The idea of holding the line against an on-coming tide of skinks on Fornax excited her. It also was thrilling to think of charging up the beaches of Climax against the Collectors Guild, with a company of brave heroes at her back. 

      She had spent much of her life watching war movies, and there was no end to the fanciful battle quotes she had memorized. Sadly there was no one eager to recruit a scrawny young woman with poor eyesight for mercenary service, except the Federation. Journey had absolutely no intention, what-so-ever, of contemplating that option. She hated everything the Federation stood for. Its slogans for galactic unity, forced compliance, and universal security, made her want to vomit. 

      Journey walked through Galli’s corridors, ignoring the impolite glances she often received. Her long blonde hair, and peach colored skin, singled her out among the crowds. Her stark blue eyes were considered dangerous to the superstitions as well. For some reason that Journey could not understand, many void-born humans considered blue eyes to be bad luck. 

      That wasn’t the only thing that helped Journey stick out. There was a birthmark just under her right eye, a small blotch of pale skin that she had since birth. Her mother thought it was good luck charm. Journey wasn’t so sure about that. If that didn’t draw people to look at her face, her eye frames did. It was her one defect, she had healthy eyes, yet she still inherited her mothers poor vision. 

      By the time she arrived to the simple hostel, it was getting close to the next work cycle. The hostel was, perhaps, the only clean sub compartment on the entire station. With the amount of constant travel to and from the station, the stations oligarchy had taken it upon themselves to keep up the travelers living arrangements. 

      The living quarters fielded several dozen bunk beds, with storage lockers for each. Toward the rear of the space was a single doorway that lead to a communal shower and restroom. Journey avoided that place, unless she was sure there was no one else occupying it. 

      Luckily, there were only a few visitors staying at the hostel. Other than herself, Journey had only seen four others. Those with coin to spare stayed in one of Galli’s inn’s or way stations, leaving the hostel to those like herself. 

      The four that shared the space happened to belong to a merchant ship, the Arbitros. The story was their ship had gotten lost in deep space. After limping back toward Federation space for three years, they finally made it to Galli and safe haven. Being isolated for so long, the four of them had become particularly odd.

      Journey had chosen the bunk farthest away from the men of the Arbitros. There wasn’t a night where she hadn’t caught them looking at her like a morsel to be sexually devoured. She knew it wasn’t their fault, after being cast away for so long, it was a miracle they hadn’t lost all sanity. 

      All four of those survivor’s were likely working in the foundries by now, something Journey hoped to avoid. She needed the money, but working in the foundries and mines of Galli seemed like a death sentence. Her research discovered the life expectancy for miners on deep space colonies, Galli in particular, was remarkably low. 

      Journey was already unzipping her jumpsuit as she sat down on her bunk. Her skin was clammy, she had been wearing it all day long. After peeling off her clothes, she quickly put on a fresh tank top with sweats. She wiped her eyeglasses clean with a silk cloth, and then adjusted them on the bridge of her nose.

      A shower was calling her name, but that could wait. Journey pulled out her personal tablet and cycled through the news feeds. She then looked over all outgoing ship manifests, and found her colony ship still scheduled to launch the following day. Journey bit her lip in frustration, her pent up anxiety caused her heart rate to spike. 

      What do I do? She wondered silently to herself. She looked at the passenger logs, and found that even if she had the money, there were no spots left to purchase. 

      “Looks like I’m stuck here until the next ship to Sinmore,” She grieved. How long would I have to wait until another colony ship goes to Sinmore? Will I be stuck here forever?  

      Life on Galli seemed harsh, even by void station standards, and she had no desire to test it. Journey knew she didn’t have any particular skill to make her an asset here, the only thing she had to sell was the clothes on her back…and her body.

      Just before she resigned herself to such a cruel fate, Journey noticed the job opening section was still open on the colony ship page. That meant it was still recruiting passengers for the ship crew. 

      “Well,” Journey wondered for a moment, “What do I have to lose.”

      She scrolled to the section of the page and opened the tab. The list of available crew positions was short, and many seemed above her understanding.

      Journey sat the tablet down, just about to lose hope. She thought of her brother who, three years ago, took a job fighting as a mercenary to help liberate Sinmore. He chose to fight on the side of the colonists, against the Federation. After not hearing from him for so long, Journey felt like it was her duty to find him. She already lost her parents, she couldn’t bear losing him as well.

      Little new of the war ever reached Federation space, she suspected it was being censored by the Federation news. But the war was still ongoing, and there were no legitimate means of travel to the distant world. That left only the less legal variety.

      The Pilgrim Corps, was an old institution dedicated to shuttling colonists to new worlds. They had nearly gone bankrupt, or so the reports claimed, over a decade ago. Journey didn’t understand the details, but apparently the company had made new fortunes shuttling colonists to unauthorized worlds for large sums of money. Not to mention the under the table deals they made with mercenary companies, shuttling troops and supplies to war zones that would hastily be considered treasonous. 

      The ship she was trying to board, the one the Pilgrim Corps had chartered, was known as the Star of Argon. She had taken the time to study it. The Star was carrying seven hundred and fifty colonists, not including other mercenaries. It was a second generation tempest class transport ship, modified with extra layers of adamantium armor plate, and outfitted with a forward prow ion cannon. It’s broadsides were old, but looked like formidable teeth aimed toward open space. Currently, the large ship was waiting for fuel, and final clearance before it began its long voyage to Sinmore.

      Journey went over the specs of the Star of Argon a dozen times in her head, eventually she found the energy to look at the tablet again. The open job list had already grown thicker since she last checked it, only minutes ago. Anything involving the lower decks was already filled by the desperate inhabitants of the station who were eager to leave, and found competent. Most of the crucial assignments had been filled by menials with previous experience. 

      There was only one set of positions still advocating for recruits. Journey spent the better part of an hour, while chewing on a protein bar, glancing over the option. She finally took in a deep breathe, and clicked on the job position. Her stomach clenched, instantly regretting her decision, but she had already decided she was going to find away on board…no matter the cost. 

      The title was simply listed as ‘Comfort Liaison’.