A name associated with thousands of dry smiles, tens of thousands of curses, millions of silent infidelities, billions of disappearances. If the houses were the stomach of the sector, then the zoners were the pancreas. Superfluous, a pain in the arse, arbiters of crime, tactless, taxless remoras clinging to the black spaces of the border worlds, filching from the trade of those better off, fighting amongst themselves for land, for space, for Godless, nomad-infested purgatories where no sane person would disturb their silent debaucheries, their fatuous theologies, their byzantine dogma. Zoners were where the trouble was. Stay away from them lest the virulence spreads. After all, a palm that shakes every other is an unsanitary one, a hug for every neck a noose, a prize for every man a bomb. Do not trust them, do not be them. Buy your fuel, drink your drinks, and get the hell out of the docking bay.
That was the adage. That was the truth that would have kept you alive.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)
![[Image: XTF1d6x.png]](https://i.imgur.com/XTF1d6x.png)