John +FARYS+

[Pennyfield]

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The suitcase sat beside Jill Xi’s chair like a sleeping hound — silent, heavy, and full of finality. Thirty million credits, just like he said. No haggling. No drama. Just a smile, a nod, and a strange station name that made her smirk even now.

Silver & Diamond & Gold Factory Depot.
Gods help them all.

The bar was quieter now. Most of the regulars had trickled off to bunks or bulkheads. Jill waved down the bartender.

“One strong Gin-Tonic,” she said, her voice a touch raspier than usual. “To hell with tea.”

As the bartender poured, she slouched a bit in her seat, staring at the glass until the ice stopped clinking. The suitcase gleamed faintly in the low light — a blunt symbol of everything she’d just handed off.

It wasn’t just bricks and beds and airlocks. It was years. Memories. Missions. A foothold Med Force had once held in one of the roughest sectors of space.

But things had changed. The need had shifted. And she couldn’t justify keeping ghosts alive when the living needed her elsewhere.

She took a long sip from her glass, then pulled her datapad from her coat pocket and started tapping out a message to Billy and Doc.

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