Knox walked down the wide center aisle of the landing dock, past the rows and rows of small star fighters. He removed his filters and endured the bombarding odors just in case another assassin stalked him. Knox kept his hands loose and swinging by his side, ready in case of attack. His plasma pistol weighed slightly under the right sleeve of his jacket.
After the space fighters came the small crew cargo ships. Knox counted three rows then turned right. Fourth ship on the left, his Maverick. Knox didn’t stop to admire his beat-up workhorse though; he had work to do. He marched up the ramp into his ship.
Maverick“Raise the ramp,” Knox said from inside the cargo bay, and it started its creaking ascent.
Maverick’s cargo bay was packed end to end with crates and shipments for delivery. They
