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Outer Reaches of Contested Space 38 Hours After Destruction of Lor-Van It was a truism that any seasoned spacer could have sworn upon: the heart of galactic civilization could be on fire, the proverbial wolf could be at the door and everything anyone knew could be turned upside down but there would still be someone willing to pay hard coin to make sure somebody else got what was coming to them. Since energy cells and starship parts hadn't suddenly become free, the crew of the Voidrunner had made their way out to the raggedy edge of known space, far enough out that nobody bothered to argue if it was technically Republic or Khanate territory, looking for a scumbag with a price on his head. Only this time the heart of galactic civilization really was on fire and the rush of reentry outside the airlock was starting to sound an awful lot like that proverbial wolf growling. Orbital traffic was ten times over denser than it should have been, packed with the ships of refugees who'd either thought they could avoid what was coming by running far enough away or who just didn't have anywhere more attractive to go than the dustball known as Ke'Pinree. Many of the vessels looked barely space-worthy; it was doubtful their passengers would be able to make it to the next closest habitable world if they were turned away. Once properly assured that they were there on business, a harried sounding woman with a thick provincial accent had cleared the bounty hunters for landing, directing them to was passed for a spaceport on her world.