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Living quarters and navigation lay up top. There was nothing as fancy as an elevator on this old ship.
    Some of the men leaned against the bulkhead while others sat on duffel bags or hover cases. Several of them were eyeing Mica’s butt as she worked, though the appraising gazes turned toward Alisa as she walked in.
    “Just doing some finishing touches,” Mica said, kneeling back and pushing up the mask. “Your applicants for the security gig have showed up.” A sour twist to her lips suggested she might have been aware of the butt inspections.
    “Thanks.” Alisa lowered her voice, walking over to talk privately to Mica before speaking with them. “Have any prospective passengers interested in rides off-world come along?”
    “Plenty have come along.” Mica pulled her mask back down. “None that have had coin.”
    “Ah.” A queasy feeling crept into Alisa’s stomach. How could she hire security guards when she didn’t have any money and wasn’t guaranteed to have any coming in? As it was, she wouldn’t be able to pay back the storeowner if she didn’t get at least one passenger. She had put an offer out, saying she was available for carrying freight, but she couldn’t imagine what freight someone might have to export from Dustor. The desert planet wasn’t known for its industry. Or anything else. Other than its utter lack of mentions in tourism brochures.
    While mulling over her bleak options, Alisa parked the hoverboard for later unloading and walked toward the men. None of them looked like the sort who would appreciate it if she told them she had published the notice in error and that she didn’t have a position open after all.
    Movement near the hatch drew her eye, and she paused.
    A man in a gray robe was walking up the ramp. He peered inside, tapped a black-and-gray beaded earstar, checked something on a holo that popped up before his eyes, and finally looked back into the hold.
    “Are you seeking passage to Perun?” Alisa asked, holding up a finger toward the job applicants. On the chance this man had money and wanted a ride, she wasn’t going to risk letting him wander off to another ship. Most of the craft docked here hadn’t looked spaceworthy—there was a dirigible a few docks down—but she had seen one other freighter, possibly also accepting passengers.
    “I am,” the man said, taking a few more steps to the top of the ramp.
    “What’s she want to go to Perun for?” one of the applicants muttered. “Empire’s still got its clutches sunk in there.”
    “I don’t care, so long as she’s hiring,” another said.
    “She’s not the captain, is she? I’m not working for a skirt.”
    “A skirt? That looks like a uniform to me.”
    Alisa ignored them and headed toward their potential passenger, though she took note of the men who didn’t sound enthused about working for her.
    “I’m Captain Marchenko,” she said, touching her palm to her chest, then lifting it toward the newcomer.
    “Dr. Alejandro Dominguez,” he said, returning the gesture. He was a handsome man with bronze skin, his hair more gray than black, and she judged him in his early fifties. He carried a satchel and duffel over his shoulder, not bothering with a personal hoverboard.
    “A doctor?” Alisa looked down at his long gray robe, a simple rope belt tying it shut. She wouldn’t object to a doctor on board, not in the least, but she had taken him for a monk with that attire. He even wore a silver pendant with the three suns clustered on it.
    “I was a surgeon for many years, though I mostly do research now and seek to better understand the path the gods have set us upon.” He lowered his bag so he could press his hands together in front of his chest and bow.
    One of the applicants, the one who had been complaining about skirts, muttered something about religion and lectures.
    Alisa was curious how a monk doing research had ended up on this dustball, as there weren’t any monasteries or libraries, as far