Pitcher found it hard to ignore his orders. A decade of service had conditioned him, sapped away his humanity and devolved his self preservation.

Just kill him and be done.

“Shwartz, where are those coordinates?”

“We have a new problem, check the Lidar.”

Ishikawa gestured on his terminal to bring up a tactical view of 2 Juno Spaceport Shuttles approaching from behind. “They are on to us, 4 minutes out.” finished Shwartz.

Pitcher squeezed his injured arm and had a moment of contemplation.

Busted out of jail to kill a guy. Then what?

He drew his pistol and slowly approached the helm. Shwartz reported, “Coordinates plotted, where the hell are we going? There is nothing out there.”

“Don’t worry, we are not alone.”

“You want to take on the USNE?”

“Why do you think I am here, you have no idea what’s happening. You’re both part of this now. It’s called recruitment.”

So that’s why they want him dead.

As blood dripped down his arm Pitcher tucked the weapon into his belt and backed off.