After three space jumps, the Rust Bucket finally reached that chaotic yet vibrant sector of space.
Through the viewport, an immense Celestial Head steeped in an ancient aura floated silently in the cosmos. Its hollow eye sockets seemed to stare at every visitor, speaking of ages long past.
Knowhere.
Link gazed at the familiar yet unfamiliar sight, a faint ripple stirring in his heart. He had once been its undisputed king. Now he was just an unremarkable mercenary.
Gru's "job" was simple—and interesting. A business magnate had hired them to transport a shipment of "special cargo" safely from the Karn Sector to a certain black-market dealer on Knowhere. The so-called special cargo was merely a handful of prisoners with unusual genes, captured from a resistance group.
For Link as he was now, a mission of this caliber posed no challenge at all. The few bands of foolish little pirates they encountered along the way had not even required him to act. Gru and his rough crew had been more than enough to handle them.
The ship docked at the designated Port 7, and Gru took two underlings to escort the "cargo" to the handoff. He gave Link an advance payment of five hundred Universal Credits and told him to stand by aboard the ship with the remaining crew.
Link weighed the tiny credit chip in his hand, sensing its faint energy fluctuations. Five hundred credits would probably buy only two glasses of the cheapest synthetic alcohol in this money pit.
He did not wait aboard the ship. Instead, he disembarked alone.
The moment he set foot on Knowhere, a clamor mingled with the scents of countless species, food spices, machine oil, and desire washed over him.
Strangely shaped aliens jostled shoulder to shoulder in the streets. Tentacled vendors hawked the