The Investigation: Part 6. The Data Chit
The transition from debt to damnation is rarely marked by a grand signpost; more often, it begins with the soft slide of a data chit across a lacquered table.
It was a quiet evening a few weeks before the battle of Haego. Angus and Leander sat in the dim, velvet-choked alcoves of a high-end parlor far from the prying eyes. The air smelled of sweet Sandalwood smoke and cheap desperation. Between them lay a polished black sliver of plastic, a military-grade data chit containing the upcoming week’s classified flight plans. It was an act of high treason to possess it, let alone trade it, but the alternative was a slow execution by credit ledger.
"The Blind Broker was explicit, Leander," Angus murmured, his fingers twitching near his glass. "We give him the routing schedules, and our slates are wiped clean. No more enforcers at our heels. No more threats to the family holdings."
Leander offered a sharp, nervous laugh, adjusting the heavy signet ring on his finger. "Clean slates? Angus, this is the Blind Broker we are talking about. The man doesn't just forgive debts out of the goodness of his sightless eyes. Why does an information merchant want a localized sector flight manifest? There’s only one answer. It’s a setup for a massive score. A payroll cruiser, a shipment of refined coaxium, or high-value noble assets."
"Let them take it," Angus hissed, leaning in closer. "What do we care about a few lost corporate freighters? Think about the prize, Leander. By tomorrow morning, the numbers next to our names in the Broker's ledger read zero. Imagine it. To finally be out from under that bastard's thumb... we'll be ghosts to his organization."
Neither of them knew the truth. They spoke of the Blind Broker as if he were merely a local shark with an oversized net, entirely blind to the hidden architecture of the galaxy. They did not understand that the gambling debts were never meant to be paid off, because the Broker didn't want their money—he wanted their compliance. Whether their ledger read a million credits or zero, the Blind Broker owned them regardless. The illusion of freedom was just the bait to keep them running on the wheel.
Later that evening, long after Leander had departed and the high of their supposed liberation had begun to cool into a quiet, anxious paranoia, Angus sat alone in his private chambers. The data chit remained plugged into his personal console. A huge score, Leander had called it. Angus couldn’t shake the itch. He wanted a piece of the action, or at least to know what payload was valuable enough for the Broker to trade away millions in leverage.
His fingers danced across the interface, bypassing the basic encryption protocols. The manifest unspooled in glowing green text across his face.
Freighters. Fuel tankers. Comm-relays.
And then, his eyes locked onto a specific transponder code: Shuttle 11-Vespera. Angus froze, the breath catching in his throat as he cross-referenced the departure time and passenger registry. Sitting squarely on the list was his own sister's name.
Angus’s mind raced, completely misinterpreting the coincidence. He had no inkling that his sister's transport was the Blind Broker's actual target, nor did he grasp the terrifying Drazzan machinations at play. In his mind, the Broker was going after a generic corporate payout on that same day, and his sister was simply someone who had the misfortune of booking the wrong flight on the wrong day when he was in possession of the details.
Angus packed up the chit, preparing to give it to Lieutenant Paulbrook so it could be delivered, sat back in the dark, completely oblivious to the fact that he was playing directly into the Drazzan’s hand, and started to formulate a plan of his own using the information he just discovered.
Angus stared at her name on the screen, a lifetime of festering resentment boiling to the surface. He hated her. He had always hated her. Rachel, the golden child. The smart one. The dependable one. The sibling constantly held up as the standard while he was left in the shadows, drowning in debts she would never have been foolish enough to accrue.
A ruthless calculus took hold of him. He didn't have to wait for the Broker's plan to unfold. He could solve two problems at once.
During his "membership" in the Blind Broker's outer organization, Angus had run a few off-the-books jobs that brought him into direct contact with a faction of cutthroat space pirates. They were vicious border mercenaries who asked no questions if the coin was heavy enough, and Angus still had their private encryption keys.
With steady, deliberate fingers, Angus opened an encrypted, untraceable channel to the pirate vanguard.
He offered them a massive bounty, feeding them the exact coordinates and trajectory of Shuttle 11-Vespera. His instructions were precise, cold, and monstrous: they were to intercept the shuttle well before the Broker's timeline, breach the hull, and capture the vessel. He told them he didn't care what else happened to the shuttle, the crew, or the other passengers. They could space them, ransom them, or butcher them for all he cared.
He only had one non-negotiable term. They were to find his sister. And they were to make her death slow, agonizing, and painful.
Angus closed the channel, a manic, satisfied grin spreading across his face in the dark. It was foolproof. The pirates would get their plunder, his sister would finally be permanently removed from his life, and when the investigators found the drifting hull, the entire tragedy would be blamed on a random, brutal border raid completely separate from the Broker's upcoming corporate heist. His connection to the stolen flight plans would be buried forever.
Sitting back in the shadows, Angus marveled at his own brilliance, completely oblivious to the fact that he was playing directly into the Drazzan’s blood-soaked hands—willingly pulling the trigger on the exact trap the Blind Broker had laid for his family from the very beginning.
Noirnavio, orbiting Vespera, War room.
“So you are telling me that the Blind Broker criminal organization has totally taken over the Lesser house VonWinterborne and is about to take over the minor house, Palmatti. How does this happen, how far does it stretch and lastly, how do we stop it?.” asked Princess Clara
“Those are the same questions we have been asking, Princess,” said Milkades. “We have ideas but, obviously, we need help. The three of us are good, but maybe not that good.”
“Inspector Vane, Milkades has told me of your competence, complements coming from that man have great meaning as I have only heard a few of them in my lifetime, congratulations,” said Clara.
“Thank you Princess Clara, I am not sure of what I have done to deserve his praise,” said Vane.
Interestingly, he also told me you would like me to kiss you, could you tell me about that?” asked Clara, getting a groan from Cynthia.
Vane, red as a Delicious apple said,” Who wouldn’t want a kiss from a princess?” Getting a genuine laugh from the princess and her body guard.
Clara, turning her attention to Agent Crisper said, “Crisper, Milkades tells me that you two came up together. Your genetic anomaly must have been a great disappointment,” said Clara. “Welcome aboard the Noirnavio.”
“Let me introduce you to those present here today, This is Admiral Redford, the military captain of this vessel, his wing Commander Lieutenant Commodore, Wyatt Staples, this is Cynthia Winfield, my bodyguard and friend, Jincho, our technical expert in all things, Galt Tirom, my ranking bridge officer, Lord Sark and Lady Myra, Captain and first mate of the Silent Runner, the other ship joining me in orbit Vespera’s orbit, and this lovely Lady is Rachel VonWinterborne, the reason we are all hear,” said Clara going around the room.
“We have two other guests aboard that could not be in attendance with us, Leander Palmatti and Randal Paulbrook, both confined in our brig. And very shortly, we will be joined by lord Palmatti, and his heir apparent, finished Clara.
“Excuse me Princess, my forensic accountant will also be on that shuttle, Silas Finch,” said Crisper. “It is fortunate that Lady Rachel is here as she can assist Silas in a way only someone from this world could.”
“I don’t mean to push but could we move this along,” said Nico, “it is only a matter of time before The Tree Blind Mice figures out something is up.” “Agent Crisper, I have an asset who can sift through data at blinding speeds, I would like to offer her to the use of your accountants, her name is Aida, Rachel is familiar with her.
Redford loaded all the information taken from warehouse 44, Vane's 18-month investigation, and the details discovered by Crisper and Milkades onto the holo-display.
“Lord Sark, would you be amenable to Myra joining us? Having an AI help us try and make connections would be invaluable,” asked Redford.
Before Sark could even part his lips to answer, the glowing blue data streams on the holo-display began to shift and condense, knitting themselves into the distinct, luminous form of an avatar.
“I am here, my lords,” said Aida.
Disconcerting, thought Redford.
Posted May 30, 2026, 10:31 PM UTC