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Darkness enveloped the cockpit window. Under the stars, nothing but water was visible. Slowly, an island emerged from the blackness. A Corsair and a Perseus were parked there. Their headlights illuminated the ruins of an old, abandoned settlement. Tense, I began my approach with the White Rabbit—right next to the wreck of a Star Runner. Not a good omen.

Hours earlier, I’d taken off from ArcCorp, leaving a message for Pike and Zwiebus that I’d be back in a few days. At least, I hoped so. There was one thing I had to take care of.

A few days ago, Brubacker had written to me, saying he’d run into Ray Keaton by chance at a Shattered Blades station. Ray had punched him out first and then immediately demanded a favor: Brubacker was to get in touch with me. Ray wanted to bury the hatchet, and he wanted me to decrypt some data for him. Brubacker was skeptical; he hadn’t forgotten that Ray had once put a bounty on my head, and Ray was still the same psycho.

The whole thing was strange. Was this a trap? Ray couldn’t be trusted. He was prone to impulsive and violent behavior. Still, I had made peace with him and reached out to him.

His reply was as brusque and rude as ever. He didn’t want to hear anything about burying the hatchet, and he didn’t want me to decrypt any data—instead, he wanted me to sift through a jumble of information to find the right bits. That would settle Brubacker’s debt to him. His suggestion: a data handoff at the Cold Dock-17 Exchange. A gathering of people who know how to do business without the UEE or the Advocacy interfering. No fixed location. No fixed time. Condition: traders who have something to offer. Buyers who don’t whine when the goods are hot. The location this time: Pyro IV.

I had nothing to sell. My entire inventory had gone toward buying the Ironclad. And I didn’t have any money to buy anything either. Not good conditions for a meeting with shady characters who had clear expectations.

Skeptically, I climbed out of the White Rabbit and breathed in the thin air. A blood-red dawn was breaking on the horizon. What would Ray be like—was violence looming? Unsure, I took a few steps toward the ruins. A figure emerged from the darkness and approached me. He wore the same armor as I did—a patched-together mix of tape, fabric, and metal. Ray Keaton. Astonishing. Did we have more in common than we cared to admit? Same armor; we both hated Hurston Dynamics and didn’t think much of the UEE. Tense as a bowstring, I stopped in my tracks.

Ray wasn’t aggressive. He greeted me curtly and handed me a data stick.

“And what am I supposed to look for?” I asked, holding the stick in my hand.

“I don’t know. Anything out of the ordinary.”

Confused, I looked at him.

“You’ve got to give me something—a name, a number, anything.”

“Look for connections to the Palatines, look for an Aquila—I don’t have a name.”

“Palatines? Who are they? Friends of yours? Family?”

“Friends, family. They used to be.” Ray suddenly sounded calm, almost sad. Then he continued.

“Do you know the ruined settlements on Hurston?”

“You mean the ones from the first settlers in Stanton?”

“Yes. Those were the Palatines.”

Surprised, I looked at Ray. That was something. Was he a descendant of the first settlers? Someone from the Free Peoples? I had followed the trail of the first settlers to Alaska and, with Brubacker’s help, had published the scandal surrounding their expulsion.

“OK,” I said thoughtfully, weighing the data stick in my hand. “I’ll look into the Palatines. I’ll find something, but it’ll take a while. Are you still hanging out at Sakura Sun on Microtech? Then I’ll bring the results there.”

A loud voice in the night interrupted our conversation.

“Doesn’t anyone want to buy anything?”

We went to the Corsair. In the cargo hold were crates displaying various weapons and helmets.

“My name is Lokutus Van Borg,” I was greeted. “I offer the best merchandise. Here, a Karna for 5,000 credits.”

“5,000?” I asked, horrified.

“Bad deal,” someone shouted.

He was right. That was more than on the open market.

“I just bought an Ironclad and I’m broke. I can offer Decari Pods in exchange.”

“Worthless,” Lokutus replied. “I’d take high-quality minerals and ores.”

Lokutus had a fabricator on board the Corsair. He probably made the weapons himself.

“So 5,000 won’t cut it,” I replied. “You’ll have to throw in more than that. Do you have sights? Or stealth components?”

“I don’t have any components. But I do have a Tau Plus sight. And I’ll throw in a P6 sniper rifle too.”

“Now that’s a good deal,” the other man exclaimed.

I really couldn’t afford it, but I went ahead and made the deal anyway.

“I might be able to help you with the stealth components,” Ray whispered to me.

No aggression, just helpfulness. What was going on with Ray?

Meanwhile, the star Pyros had climbed above the horizon. In the daylight, we looked at the old, dilapidated settlement. We found a cemetery. There were alien characters on the gravestones. Fascinated, I took pictures. I had to send these to Alaska.

Suddenly, a loud roar. A Cutter flew overhead and dropped decoys. They fell to the ground like little suns. Everyone ran for cover and drew their weapons.

“That could also be a sign of friendliness,” Lokutus remarked.

No one seemed willing to take that at face value. Several gun barrels were aimed at the rear ramp of the landed Cutter. From behind a rock, I watched the ramp open—nothing happened, just a crackling in the air. Then someone came down the ramp with a crossbow in hand. All weapons were lowered. The others knew the newcomer.

I looked at the crossbow with interest. That would be a weapon for the honorable hunt for Valakare. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for sale. I said my goodbyes and flew back to Stanton.

On the return flight, I sat in the cockpit, deep in thought. I had Ray’s data—and a problem. The computers aboard the White Rabbit were designed for encryption and secure data storage. And for hacking. But not for analyzing large amounts of data. I couldn’t show up at Ray’s empty-handed. A bloody nose would be the least of my worries.

After passing through the wormhole to Stanton, I set course for the planet Microtech.

Luckily, I knew someone in New Babbage who could help me, someone who had analyzed data for me on several occasions: Marsden Analytics.

The analysis revealed something interesting. The data stick contained messages from various communication channels. No idea how Ray had gotten his hands on them. One channel was called Palatine-Net. It contained messages about meetings with a contact person, information about UEE activities, and missions in Stanton, Pyro, and Nyx. And then the last message on the Palatine channel:

• To all Palatines: Effective immediately, we are operating under the pirate flag. Base ABS-HJ-02.

The Pirate-Net channel showed that contraband was being stored at Base ABS-HJ-02. Messages from a specific sender provided further insight:

• To all pirates: Palatines are now part of our network.
• Palatine Flagship and Pirate Raider: Target is UEE convoy at the jump gate to Pyro. Launch in 1 hour.
• UEE is planning a raid on Nyx. Target: ABS-HJ-02. We must evacuate the base.
• UEE has destroyed ABS-HJ-02. We are striking back: Attack on UEE resupply at the jump gate to Stanton.

So the Palatine had switched sides and attacked the UEE. Armed with this information, I flew to Sakura Sun a day later to meet Ray.

*

Dressed in combat gear and heavily armed, he stood across from me in the employee lounge. I was in civilian clothes and unarmed. A clear disadvantage. The smell of roasted beans hung in the air. Hopefully that would be the only thing to go up in smoke here. I placed the flash drive on the table and explained the analysis results.

Ray suddenly took a step toward me, his face contorted with rage. His face was so close it almost touched mine. I froze.

“The data is fake,” he hissed at me.

I took a cautious step back.

“The analysis is real. If anything, the data you gave me was wrong.”

“Who’s to say the hacker didn’t tamper with it?”

Ray’s anger seemed to be mounting. Once again, he suspected me of tampering with the data. Just like back then, after that disastrous hoverbike trip.

“Why would he?” I replied cautiously. “There’s no reason. I support the free peoples.”

The tension in Ray’s body seemed to ease. Exhausted, he slumped into a barstool.

“I need a beer for that.”

Ray set two bottles on the table. I took one and asked hesitantly:

“Who are the Palatines?”

“The Palatines were the first settlers in Stanton. They were searching for the Holy Land. It was promised on Hurston. They had a code, and now they’ve strayed from the path. I’m really pissed off.”

Ray looked exhausted. We finished our beers, then he said:

“I’ve got stealth components for you. I don’t want money; you owe me a favor.”

A favor—the most common currency. A great opportunity to re-equip the White Rabbit with stealth components. I owed Ray something, but I also had something to offer: information about his origins.

I returned to ArcCorp. Pike and Zwiebus were waiting. During the flight, an open message from Ray popped up on the intercom.

Let everyone who receives this be my witness:
Every Palatine once took an oath. An oath that was broken to set a course I cannot follow.
Therefore, I renounce my allegiance to the Palatine. My services are no longer at their disposal. No oath binds me, and no vow is broken.
Subject to no one, accountable to none, I declare myself free.
So help me the Sleeper.

Background of the Palatine (German only): https://robertsspaceindustries.com/en/orgs/PALATINE#history

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)