“Nah, not really.” He winked and knocked his drink back in one. Since it had become clear that the weather was going to leave us alone, he’d let himself get slightly drunk. “That rucking prick, for me you can have his cargo. Just so long as you don’t try and lift it while it’s on the ‘dud.”

“Right.” I raised my glass to him.

“So who is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Who you running radar for? The yak? Weed Expanse gangs? Thing is—”

“Ari, I’m serious.”

He blinked at me. “What?”

“Think about it. If I’m a yak research squad, you go asking questions like that, it’s going to get you Really Dead.”

“Ah, crabshit. You ain’t going to kill me.” He got up, leaned across the table towards me and peered into my face. “You don’t got the eyes for it. I can tell.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, besides.” He sank back into his seat and gestured untidily with his glass. “Who’s going to sail this tub into Newpest harbour if I’m dead. She’s not like those Saffron Line AI babies, you know. Every now and then, she needs the human touch.”

I shrugged. “I guess I could scare someone on the crew into it. Show them your smouldering corpse for an incentive.”

“That’s good thinking.” He grinned and reached for the bottle again. “I hadn’t thought of that. But like I said, I don’t see it in your eyes.”

“Met a lot like me, have you?”

He filled our glasses. “Man, I was one like you. I grew up in Newpest just like you and I was a pirate, just like you. Used to work route robberies with the Seven Per Cent Angels. Crabshit stuff, skimmer cargo coming in over the Expanse.” He paused and looked me in the eyes. “I got caught.”

“That’s too bad.”