I know that look.

His eyes narrow and darting. His lips curled into a tight grin, as if he’s got this entire situation under control. But I don’t say a word. The barrel of my gun on his forehead should tell him everything he needs to know.

I drop the flashlight from my other hand and begin rummaging through his pockets. Small tools, a couple shotgun shells and some loose change, I throw it all in my bag. Everything’s got to be worth something, and it’s not like I have any excuse to be picky, anyway. He sneers as I grab the knife from his belt and throw it in with the rest of his stuff.

“Be careful with that, wench,” he spits on my shoes, “that blade is silver coated. It’s worth more than your head. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yes, officer, I do,” I respond, “now take off your vest. Slowly.”

He scoffs at me. “Stealing the clothes off the back of an honest man? You stoop low.” His lip twitches in annoyance as he grabs at the collar of his vest and tosses it on the ground in front of me. I glance down at it, careful to keep my gun locked on his head.

This is the important step. Officers on board this ship have microtransmitters imbedded into their collars and sleeves. With this tech, he could snap his fingers and half a dozen armed guards would rush to his side. But now that it’s thrown into a heap onto the floor, this man is truly alone. Which works out well for me.

Of course, if I’m planning to steal his eyeball, I can’t have him making a scene. 

I smile grimly to myself. If you had told me two days ago that I was going to take the eyeball out of somebody’s head, let alone the head of a high-ranking Chambliss Corporation officer, I’d have called you insane. Now, look at me. Maybe trusting Bandit’s word wasn’t the greatest idea after all, but I guess there’s no going back now. 

“Ah yes. Smile, you filthy rat.” The officer is staring at me angrily. His grin has disappeared from his face. “I hope you’re still smiling when I throw your corpse into space!”

“You’re Officer Raymond Blackwell, right?” I ask distractedly.

 “I’m Senior Officer Raymond Blackwell. The wrong man to steal from, as you’ll soon find out.”

“Perfect…” I pause. “…now, give me your left eyeball.”

“What?!” Blackwell reels back in surprise, “my eye? Are you mad?” His fists clench as I stand, emotionless. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead,” I respond, “take it out.”

“And how do you suppose I do that, wench? With a goddamn spoon?”

I press the gun onto his forehead, causing him to stagger backwards. “Don’t play dumb with me. Either you give me your eyeball, or I’ll take it out. My way.”

He bites his lip, staring up at my gun hand. I know this bluff. I curl my finger around the trigger— slowly. Just enough so he knows I’ve done it before. Then he shakes his head.

“Curse you, filth. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Not my problem…” I cock the gun back, feeling it power to life in my hands. Immediately, Blackwell hisses angrily and throws up his hands in protest. I raise my eyebrows at him. “I don’t have all day.”

He glares at me. “You’ll pay for this,” he mutters, “you’re sure—”

“I’m sure,” I interrupt.

We lock eyes. His are shaking, with veins of blood seeming to pop from the sides. A bead of sweat drips from his forehead and onto the floor. His shoulders twitch.

“Stop stalling,” I say.

He grits his teeth for a moment, but then looks back up to the barrel of my gun. Finally, he cups his hands around his eye.

“Look away,” he says with the sort of tone that tells me to do the complete opposite. Then he presses his hand into his eye. Like a magnet in a scrapyard, it pops out with a satisfying click and drops smoothly into his hand. An augmented glass sphere, just like Bandit had said. I snatch it from his hand. It’s heavy, almost like a ball bearing, and unnervingly smooth to the touch. I place it gingerly in my bag, wrapping it in Blackwell’s vest and watching the life drain from his face. I point my gun towards a large pole in the corner of the room behind him.

“Now walk to that pole. Slowly.” 

“Rotten whore,” the man hisses. He slowly takes a step backwards, his hands shaking and raised in the air. “You can try to run, but it won’t matter. You won’t even get past the first guard in this ship! And when you– ragh!”

He lunges at me mid-sentence, a vain attempt to take me by surprise. I hop backwards, slamming my gun against his jaw and he crumples to the floor.

“Do that again, and you’re a dead man,” I say and grab him by the head, “go to the pole.”

This time he obliges, muttering under his breath and wiping the blood from his mouth and mustache. I grab a zip tie from my bag and pull his arms behind him and quickly fasten them into place. He curses as I pull it tight.

“Just wait until I get my hands on you, girl. Mark my words, I’ll treat you like the desert whore you are!” You’ll wish you—”

His voice chokes as I shove a sock in his mouth, wrapping it tight with sinew.

“I wish you would stop talking,” I say quietly.

The man’s gagged moans for help slowly die out as I leave the cargo bay. All I can do is shake my head. To stumble onto my primary target in this room, of all places, was not part of the plan. Luckily, Blackwell was too busy muttering to himself to notice me until it was too late. 

I grab the map from the side compartment of my bag. Bandit drew it for me on the night before I left, a crude sketch of this ship’s layout and design. 

“You’ll be infiltrating a type C transport carrier,” I remember him saying to me. “It’s the most common transport ship in the Chambliss fleet, but don’t think that’ll make it any less dangerous. Your target is the senior officer on board, named Raymond Blackwell. Though, more specifically, your target is his left eyeball.”

He grinned as I gave him a quick look of confusion.

“It’s not a real eye. It’s augment. Like a glass sphere. But it’s supposedly filled some sort of nanotechnology that Chambliss wants to keep hidden.” He paused. “I wish I knew more, but that’s all the client told me.”

I shrugged. “Not much to go off of. Who’s the client?”

“I don’t know. Netline wouldn’t say.”

I nodded. Accepting this job through Netline means real money. Most high paying clients feed their contracts through a company like Netline to ensure anonymity. They’re professional middlemen, providing secure servers for potential buyers to connect with contract thieves, hackers and hitmen. They’re also professional killers. Every thief knows not to break a Netline contract— not if you don’t want a bullet through your head.

“The lifepods are located in Sector 8B.” Bandit said a bit louder, noticing my eyes drift off around the room. He pointed at the map, where he had circled the lifepods in red ink. “Just follow this route and you’ll find it,” he paused to shoot me an annoyed look, “this is important, Lyd. Try not to yawn while I give you life or death information…”

I hid a smirk. “I’m sorry. I know.”

Bandit looked away, covering his mouth, and I dozed off in my chair.

Almost always, it was at this point of his briefing that he went over the plan— his plan— for me to get in and out alive. But we both know these steps are more like a list of suggestions to me. When you’re in the field, anything can happen, and the worse thing you can do is funnel yourself into one preplanned solution.

After a while, Bandit cleared his throat, adjusted his papers into one, neat stack, and gave me the look. I snapped awake.

“We know our mission. We know our plan. We know this ship inside and out.” Bandit looked at me earnestly. “Are you ready for this?”

“I’m ready,” I replied, and I was.

“Good,” he nodded, “But one more thing…”

I looked at him questioningly.

“No unnecessary risks, Lydia. I mean it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, come on, Bandit. You know me. Caution is my middle name!”

“No,” Bandit shook his head, “I know you, Lydia, that’s why I have to remind you that it isn’t.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “I can’t prepare you for everything you’re going to see up there…” he paused for a moment, “…but I’m telling you, right now, that this job will be the most dangerous heist we’ve ever taken on. That’s why it’s imperative that we—”

“Don’t take risks,” I interrupted. “I know, Bandit.”

“I know that you say you know. But do you understand?” he narrowed his eyes.

“I understand.”

“Good.” Bandit leaned forward. “Your job is to recover the eye and stay out of sight while doing it. But Lyd?”

“Yeah?” I glanced up.”

“That’s only your job. Your mission is to get home alive.”

I can’t help but laugh thinking back to that night, and then to Officer Raymond Blackwell, who I just gagged and ziptied to a pole in the corner of the cargo bay, an eyeball now missing from his left eye socket. Perhaps threatening him at gunpoint was a bit of a risky play, not exactly the type that Bandit would recommend.

I wonder what he’ll say when he hears about this… I shake my head clear. I need to focus now. The job isn’t done just yet.

I slip off my boots and throw them into my bag. They’ll make too much noise on the hard metal floor, and I need to be a ghost. Then I grab my gun, pulling it open to check that it’s still loaded.

One bullet are all I could afford before I snuck on board this ship. One bullets and a rusty Kier revolver, an old scrap gun from the last decade. Kiers have never been fancy or even well-designed firearms, but they’re dirt cheap and shoot somewhat straight, so they’re a common choice throughout Roan. I got my first Kier when I was eleven years old, a birthday gift from my father. I’ve kept it ever since, although it jammed and stopped working just two days later. 

The bullet is the opposite. A high density, armor piercing round, capable of shredding through almost anything like a stick of warm butter. It’s the best of the best, which is why I could only afford one. But I like knowing that if trouble does come, I can return fire. Even if that fire only has one chance to ignite.

I glance down at my holocom. Before I left, I gauzed it to my arm like a makeshift watch. It’s [19 H :51 m] at night. Less than ten minutes until the next shift. That won’t do if I want to get off this ship in one piece.

I begin to quicken my stride, dashing from room to room away from the cargo bay. I know Blackwell is still moaning and chewing through his gag behind me. And on a transport carrier like this, a missing officer never goes unnoticed for too long. It’s only a matter of time before he’s found and the alarm is raised, so I have to move fast.

Besides, most of the rooms are filled with large crates and containers that I can’t open. Maybe with a larger team or a better set of tools, I’d be able to fry their massive industrial locks and see what’s inside. But either of those cost money, and if I had money, I wouldn’t be infiltrating this ship in the first place. 

I got my loot anyway. My bag is stuffed with all the junk I could find over the past few hours. Not to mention Officer Raymond Blackwell’s eyeball, my prized jewel. Now, it’s time to get to the life pods and get back home.

I reach the end of the corridor and dart up the stairs, stopping for only a second to throw my bag over my shoulder. It rips slightly with the sudden movement. Blasted bag, but it was all I could afford. It groans under the weight of my loot. Just what I need.

I step forward, cupping my hands behind my back to hold the bag steady. The old batteries, blades, and other broken scrap I could find all rattle inside.

Another long hallway. I glance up. Three large, exposed pipes run across the ceiling, shielding the area above them. I can only stare wistfully at them, well beyond my reach. If I were truly worthy of this payday, I’d have found a way up to those pipes, out of sight of anybody walking by. But I don’t see any way to get up there from this hallway, let alone a way to climb them.

I smirk. If Bandit were here, he’d call that tactical error. He’d tell me that I rushed into this situation without analyzing my environment first, and now I’m at a disadvantage.

And I’d reply by saying that I just couldn’t afford a ladder.

So I guess walking the corridors will have to do. I creep around a bend, peeking my eyes around each corner to study my surroundings.

Near identical doors stretching down a hallway as far as I can see.

I step forward. If there was ever a place for an ambush, this would be it. The doorframe in front of me hangs low and the walls close in on both sides. I don’t remember this room from the map Bandit made, but then again, he drew the map from memory. Right now, all I have to reference is a few dozen guesses and a whole lot of hope.

The silence is deafening. Where are all the guards? For all of Bandit’s caution and Blackwell’s spitting threats, this ship is remarkably dormant.

I glance to the left. The door closest to me is open, with nothing but a bed frame and a dusty old lamp inside. The second door is the same, and the third. It’s a good thing that my bag can’t hold any more loot. There doesn’t seem to be much to steal on this cursed ship anyway.

I jump as the door to the hallway slams shut behind me. The ship churns with the impact. Well, that was my only way back, and now it’s blocked by a pneumatic wall of steel. I hope that door is blocking Chambliss guards from finding me and not the other way around.

Another doorway. Another corridor ahead. Each step is excruciatingly slow as the bag on my back creaks. I glance at my shoulders to inspect the straps— they’ll hold.

I return my gaze to the front of the ship and recoil in surprise.

A figure in full combat armor stares back at me, his rifle pointed directly at my head.

“Intruder,” he says in a low, computer-like voice.

I can only mouth a reply.

I dive back behind the doorway as the bullets begin to spray from his rifle, pelting a sea of holes into the wall where I just stood.

“She’s here.” the figure say from behind the corner, unnervingly candid and calm. “Requesting backup at Sector 8A. I repeat. Requesting backup at Sector A.”

Hm. Sector A. Despite the sudden commotion, something about that sparks my memory.

I hear footsteps marching in front of me and push the thought aside. No time for a memory exercise. I rush back through the doorway, exposing myself for a moment to machine gun fire, but I know they’re not expecting me to push into their position.

The guard has a friend now, and they both recoil in surprise. I get to them before they can draw their guns and push through. I’m gone before they have a chance to turn, running the way they just came. My bag is flying freely, creating a trail of stolen scrap and loot. Another corner and a doorway. There’s no more time to be stealthy. I hear the thunder of the guards behind me, and their machine-like voices. Then I see it, lighting up an entranceway ahead, my exit out of this maze of a ship: “Section 8B”

Now, I remember. I may have been half asleep when Bandit went over the plan, but I still managed to recall one piece of information.

The lifepods are located in Sector 8B. Your mission is to get home alive.

A surge of adrenaline rushes through me as I charge forward towards my lifeline.

But the guards move faster. One of them has somehow closed the gap behind us. I hear his panting and the hum of his rifle. Forget the entrance to Sector 8B, I have to change course before I’m mincemeat.

A clumsy dive into some empty room beside me is all I can manage before the bullets spray again. Another bed frame and an even dustier lamp— I crash into it all, then the wall, and then the floor. The guards both charge past, too slow to react to my sudden dive, but their footsteps come to a skid down the hallway. I look around desperately, searching for an escape.

The ship churns again, tilting violently to the side and slamming me back into the wall. More footsteps. The commotion is multiplying. I drop to the ground and my bag falls in a heap on top of me, ripped and torn. I feel the loot spilling from the sides. A curse and a clatter outside as one of my pursuers also seems to lose his balance. I look around again, and spot those same ceiling pipes, now conveniently closer to me after the ship’s wild turn.

“People rarely look up.” Bandit’s teachings pound in my ear. “When you have to hide, escape from eye level. Go up.”

I pull myself to behind them. My bag hangs on by its last thread and I pull it up with me. Not a breath later and a guard at the door.

He pauses for a moment, studying the empty room. Then he raises his rifle and pulls the trigger. I wince as a hail of bullets envelops the room below me. The desk explodes into a cloud of splinters and the lamp falls to pieces, but the pipes hold strong. The guard steps back, his eyes narrowed. He doesn’t want to enter and risk a bullet wound. He takes cover behind the safety of the wall.

“We have the intruder pinned. Section 8A. Requestion backup.” His voice is unnerving. I hear the click of his gun as pulls the magazine out and clips in another.

This is trouble.

“Surrender your weapons and come out,” the other one calls through the doorway, “you will not be harmed.”

Right. I fumble for my Kier from the loop in my belt, feeling suddenly inadequate compared to their heavy rifles. But that can’t matter now.

“Please,” I whisper, “don’t break…” One high density armor piercing round in the

chamber. I pull the trigger. The  Kier lets out a big puff of smoke and recoils violently as the bullet shreds through the pipe, then wall, and then through one of the guards.

“Aghhhhhh!” he screams in pain as his body dropping to the floor. I jump from behind the pipes and rush to the wall, taking cover just inches from the bullet hole.

“Target returning fire.” The other guard says. So much for caution, he steps into the room, weapon raised. But luck spares me again as he looks the wrong way. I slam into him, knocking the gun from his hands. We both scramble for it but I’m faster. I kick it to the other side of the room and slip free, back into the hallway.

“Don’t let her get to the Sector 8B!!” For the first time, the guard’s voice seems to break. I charge through the doorway and into an empty room. Then I see them: green circular pods, each with open doors and enough rocket powered fuel to fly me away. My heart melts. I slide towards them, nearly tripping as my socks lose traction on the solid ground. But the lifepods break my fall. They look exactly the way Bandit told me they would. I shove my what’s left of bag inside and climb in myself.  

“Noooo—” the guard’s shouts go dull as I slam shut the life pod door.

“Welcome to life pod 001 on type C carrier 1284-9987.” The life pod announces cheerfully, “We at Chambliss Corporation are pleased to take you anywhere you need to go! Please select your destination.”

“Roan!” I shout.

“Very well. Flying to Roan. Estimated travel time, six minutes. Current temperature, one hundred and seven degrees.”

I close my eyes as the life pod emits a powerful blast. Everything turns to white. Then I’m shooting through space, away from the Chambliss cargo ship.

I can’t open my eyes. I can barely breathe.

I put my head in my hands and try to stop the shaking, but all that comes out are pitiful gasps. My bag looks just as pathetic. It was fully intact when I stepped on board this ship. Now, it’s nothing more than a few pieces of poorly stitched burlap, with some broken pieces of loot still falling out of it.

My eyes go wide. The eye.

I rip my bag in half, feeling around for the one thing I need. It has to be here somewhere. It has to be—

Then I feel it. Wrapped in Officer Raymond Blackwell’s vest.

And with his silver coated knife stuck right through the middle.

My prized possession, the augmented glass eye, now cracked and broken in my hands.

I stare at it in disbelief.

Recover the eye and stay out of sight while doing it, that’s what Bandit said.

I can only wonder what he’ll say now.