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nothing fishy is going on,” she added. “That’s a lot of money for hauling mushrooms.”
    Before Beck could reach for the comm, it flashed with an incoming message from a control tower nestled against the exterior of the dome. Alisa had expected the hail, since they were flying around the city.
    “This is Captain Marchenko,” she answered, leaving off mention of the Star Nomad for now. The name of the ship was painted on the side, and it had an old imperial ident, so it wasn’t as if they could slip in incognito, but she wouldn’t be surprised if there were multiple alerts on the net from the Alliance and also from the White Dragon mafia.
    Maybe instead of thinking of retrofitting it, she should try to trade it for something else. But what else could she afford? Nobody was going to give her anything modern, decent, or working for the old freighter. Besides—she eyed the stuffed spider dangling over Beck’s head—this was home.
    “Are you looking to dock, Captain Marchenko?” a man responded. His voice sounded blessedly professional.
    “Yes, we’re looking to take on cargo. What are your docking fees?”
    “Forty tindarks,” he said. “Per day.”
    That wasn’t cheap, but since the man did not go on to mention searches, extra fees, or taxes, Alisa decided to find it reasonable. “Thank you. We’re interested.”
    “Excellent. Enter through the south forcefield. You’ll see the docks right away.”
    Alisa took them in the indicated direction, veering past a control tower and toward a portion of the translucent dome that grew transparent as she approached. It occurred to her that the forcefield opened and closed via someone else’s command, and that they could be trapped inside if that person chose not to open it when the Nomad wanted to leave. Was she a fool who risked strolling into a trap?
    Beck looked at her curiously as she slowed to a hover outside of the dome.
    “I think it’s open,” he said.
    She eyed the surrounding terrain on the Nomad’s cameras, wondering if she could land outside and they could send Beck and Leonidas in their self-contained armor to get masks and hover bikes for everyone. But there weren’t any other ships parked anywhere outside of the dome. Marshes and fungal forests stretched as far as her cameras could see. The scant roads she had noticed were too narrow to land on, and might not support the weight of a ship—they were raised up, almost like bridges stretching through the swamps. Alisa feared she would need pontoons to land anywhere out there.
    “For now,” she murmured, replying to Beck.
    She guided the Nomad through the entrance and hoped she was not making a mistake.
    • • • • •
    Alisa headed down to the hold, using the stairs Mica had rebuilt with Tomich’s supplies, and tried not to feel nervous as she wondered what to expect in a city run by a mafia organization. Leonidas and Beck were already waiting by the cargo hatch, though nobody had presumed to lower it yet. Alejandro was also in the hold, talking to Leonidas. Yumi stood by the chicken coop, tossing feed to the girls. They had been stressed by their exposure to the radiation and had not resumed egg-laying yet, much to Beck’s chagrin. Abelardus was not around, but Alisa was not too concerned—she needed to buy some of the breathing masks before she could look for the Starseer outpost.
    Mica waited at the bottom of the steps with her arms folded over her chest.
    “Problem?” Alisa asked, stopping before heading over to join the men.
    “You set us down in a city run by the mafia?”
    “Ah, someone must have sent you the memo.”
    “Funny,” Mica said. “This isn’t the kind of place where I can look for a good engineering job, you know.”
    “Oh?” Alisa tried to decide if Mica was joking or not. She kept saying she wanted to leave, but she kept not leaving. “Does the mafia not need engineers?”
    “I’m not going to work for the mafia. I’m not suicidal.”
    “Are you