The transport ship with the last group of mercenaries was leaving for a small fleet hanging in orbit. It did not rise too quickly, vibrating its battered hull and filling the wastelands around the spaceport with the wild roar of its engines. Even in the terminal, where passengers and local staff who could not fit into the transport remained, the walls were shaking. Passengers. A man in a new uniform standing near the glass wall looked longingly at the silhouette rising into the sky. To say that his dream was flying away was stupid. He had already gone into space with such ships too many times for him to have any dreams left. There was no place for him on this ship. Mercenaries are usually aware of who is recruiting the team and where. This small fleet of a dozen motley vessels went to the border of the Outskirts. There, where weakened planets appeared after the visit of the nomads. There, where there was an opportunity to capture a couple of planets and depict your own state...