“Really sorry about the landing,” I blurt out, nerves making it impossible to stay quiet. “We had a system malfunction. The thermal… something.” I glance back at the ship, tilted heavily to one side and already thoroughly scuffed before this incident. “Though honestly, it was a pretty good job given the situation.”

There’s a long pause.

“Anyway,” my mother says, “our cargo is some freeze-dried fruits and veggies from Deva. I’d be happy to give you a look. Hell, I’ll give you a sample if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the officer in charge says. She removes her hand from her ear, pockets her comm, and folds both hands behind her back. “But we do require you to come with us.”

I glance left and right, calculating which way is more likely to save my life if this ends in a blaster fight. Neither direction is promising.

“What exactly is this about?” my mother asks. Before the officer can answer, she flicks a hand. “Relax, you two.”

Both twins guiltily remove their hands from their weapons and raise them again. My chest feels constricted. It’s only a matter of time before something in this situation blows up, and it’s more than likely going to be the dumbass twins.

“Classified,” says the woman in uniform.

“Well, pardon my rudeness, but I’ve heard tales of scrappers out here pretending to be officers,” Momma says. “Mind if I see some documentation to ease my worries?”

The woman confers with her earpiece before stepping forward and flashing the screen of her comm at my mother. Momma’s shoulders tense. I tense, too. I’m sweating beneath my hood, my heart beating fast. Any second now, one of these jumpy officials, or one of my trigger-happy siblings, is going to let loose a round of laser-fire. And then there will be a lot more lasers, and blood, and all in all, it’ll be very bad business.

“Thank you, Commander Zinne,” my mother says. “I’ll come along. Let me and the crew get our things together.”

“Just you,” Zinne says. “No crew.”

In the silence that follows, I hear the twins shift behind me.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Pol mutters. Drom begins to count our adversaries under her breath.

Not for the first time, I wish I was in the habit of keeping a blaster at my hip like every other member of my family. It wouldn’t be all that useful in my hands, but at least it’d make me seem less like an easy target.

“Fine,” my mother says again, this time through gritted teeth. “Give me one minute with them. We have plans for this cargo that need smoothing out.”