This is staying a short story. It is.
It took me three days to figure out why the hell Rubicon had come here, mostly because I wasted two of them trying to pump the crew of the [Redacted] 523 (no, really. That was the name on the manifests) for information. I got precisely nowhere, which I sort of expected, but not really. I mean, you get used to Council spacers being closemouthed, out here in the Tomb Worlds. Their masters only send out the really committed and trustworthy minions.
But these folks were… they were like black holes when it came to gossip. Not actually rude, unlike their ship captain: they wanted fresh food and new entertainment and cold beer, and were happy to trade with me or Nur for them. But none of them would talk about why they were here. We were lucky to even get shrugs.
“They’ve been mind-locked,” Nur told me confidently as we grabbed some cold drinks of our own. Not beer, though. Nur didn’t drink and I was on call for the duration.
I rolled my eyes. “First off, they’re not mind-locked. Second, they’re not mind-locked. Third… what’s mind-locked?”
“Damned if I know. Probably some weird alien tech that makes people keep their mouth shut.”Nur grinned. “But you know something like that has got to be out there.”