“But it also meant that Ostrander now goes out of his way to warn off anyone I try to get a pilot’s job with,” I said. “No one likes a troublemaker.”

“No, no one does,” Han agreed, and inside I groaned, because I figured this was where I just blew the gig. “But then, I crewed on the Lastan Falls for a year, early in my career.”

I blinked. “You did?” I said.

“Yes,” Han said. “Let’s just say I can understand wanting to break your contract. And also that at some point I want to hear the details of that suit.”

I grinned. “You got it, sir,” I said.

“I’m going to be blunt, Mr. Daquin, this position is a step back for you,” Han said. “It’s third pilot, and it’s a straight bread-and-butter trade run. We go here, we go to Huckleberry, we go to Erie, we repeat. It’s not exciting, and just like the Baikal, there’s little chance for advancement.”

“Let me be equally blunt, sir,” I said. “I’ve spent nine months at the bottom of a gravity well. You know as well as I do that if I spend too much more time there, I’m going to get stuck. You need another pilot right now so you don’t lose time and money on your trade run. I get that. I need to get off the rock so I can have another shot at first pilot somewhere else without Ostrander’s blackball over my head. I figure we’re both in a spot and can help each other out.”

“I just wanted to be sure everyone’s expectations were in order,” Han said.

“I have no illusions, sir.”

“Good. Then I can give you a day to close out your business here.”

I reached down and patted the crew bag at my feet. “Business closed. The only thing I have to do is find my friend Hart and buy him a drink for setting up this interview.”

“If you can do that quickly there’ll be a shuttle to the Chandler at gate thirty-six in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll be on it, sir,” I said.

“Well, then,” Han said, stood up, and extended his hand. “Welcome to the Chandler, pilot.”

I took the hand. “Thank you, sir. Glad to be aboard.”

*   *   *

I found Hart a half hour later, on the other side of Phoenix Station, in a reception for his boss, Ambassador Abumwe.

“She got the Meritorious Service Award,” Hart said. He was on his second glass of spiked punch and he was never one who held his alcohol very well, so he was on his way to being a little tipsy. He was also dressed in a formal diplomatic uniform. I thought it made him look like a doorman. But then I had just spent the better part of the year in sweatpants, so who the hell was I to say.