Free Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) by Brian Niemeier

floor.”
    Jaren motioned for Deim to stand down. “What's your name?” he asked the stranger. “I like to know who I'm dealing with.”
    The man may have said, “Fallon,” or Jaren may have heard a glacier crack somewhere across the depths of space. Taking a card of smoked crystal from his jacket's inside pocket, Fallon continued. “The Jeweled Sea claimed a freeman’s ship, which sailed at our behest. Her cargo is yours for the taking.”
    Deim took the card. “Another treasure hunt,” he said. “Worked out great last time.”
    “Deliver your prize to a port of your choosing,” Fallon said. “There will be a buyer. You shall have the due price, even to the last copper.”
    The ether torch guttered, and the storeroom fell back into darkness. The work lights came on soon after, but Fallon was gone.
    Jaren almost gave the order to move, but he noticed Nakvin standing stock still; her silver eyes wide. “Are you all right?” he asked, gently shaking her shoulder.
    Nakvin started like a woken sleepwalker. Facing Jaren, she managed an unconvincing smile. “I just want to leave,” she said.
    Jaren opted to save his questions for later. He gestured for Deim and Teg to remove the overhead grate. All four of them climbed to the hangar.
    Jaren stood in the dock among a dozen privateer ships. He saw no movement and heard no sound. Everything seemed normal but for a familiar acrid odor that dissipated swiftly in the recycled atmosphere.
    “You’d never know that someone massacred an Enforcer squad in here,” said Teg. “Fallon covers his tracks better than the Byport Gouger.”
    Nakvin shuddered. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “Master Kelgrun used to keep me up at night with stories about that face-slashing ghoul.”
    “What?” said Teg. “You’re scared of an old ghost story?”
    “The Gouger was real,” Nakvin said. “I grew up right across the river from Byport, and the story wasn’t as old when I was a girl.”
    Jaren led the way to the Shibboleth and nearly had his head caved in by Mikelburg, who dropped from above and behind the hatch with a pipe wrench in his mitts.
    “Thera’s bed!” the engineer cursed. “Let a man know you’re not the Guild come calling at his door.”
    Jaren waved Nakvin, Teg, and Deim inside before following behind with Mikelburg. “Where is everyone?” the captain asked when he noticed the ship’s deserted look.
    “You had them pulling their puds aboard ship for weeks,” Mikelburg said. “They decided to stretch their legs.”
    “How many stayed?”
    “Everybody who’s on shift.”
    Jaren groaned. Besides the senior crew, only ten men remained of the Shibboleth’s original complement.
    “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Mikelburg asked.
    “If we live,” said Jaren. He brushed past the engineer and ran to the bridge. The other three officers were already at their stations. “Take us out Deim,” he said.
    The Shibboleth leapt out of the hangar and into the waiting jaws of four Guild corvettes. A lump formed in Jaren’s throat when he saw their segmented hulls. Deim made straight for them, gaining speed as he went. The Guild ships opened fire without bothering to hail their prey.
    “Eager, aren't they?” Nakvin quipped as she clung to a railing.
    “They don't know what they're up against,” said Deim. He pitched and yawed to avoid the worst of the barrage. The grazing shots that did connect were buffered by the Shibboleth's aura projector. Deim straightened his course and rotated the ship ninety degrees, narrowly slipping between two of the blocky corvettes.
    Jaren’s mind raced. His crew had survived the opening volley, but they were still in serious trouble. The Shibboleth was nimbler than the corvettes but would’ve been outgunned by one; never mind four. “Make for the ether, Deim,” he said.
    The steersman obliged, causing the color inversion that attended ether jumps near planetary bodies. Ubiquitous haze blurred the stars and