She was coughing in the other room – a wet choked sound – but was trying to muffle it so Dariux wouldn't hear. Her coughs – not to mention the other symptoms of her disease – were growing worse. Dariux stepped into the small kitchen and took the bottle of pills from the shelf. Taking the lid off, he stared down into the mostly empty bottle, shaking it around as if that might somehow magically produce more pills, and sighed.

"Great," he muttered to himself.

Caring for his mother was expensive. The medicine he could afford helped her symptoms, but brought her no closer to being cured. Ryson Syndrome was common enough for the people living out there in the Fringe, and in almost every case, it was fatal.

But, if you were lucky enough to be born into wealth and living in a city like Gavorna – one of the largest, most affluent cities on Elypso – Ryson Syndrome was little more than a temporary inconvenience. In the city, they had the doctors and the medicine that would get you back on your feet in no time flat.

For people living in the Fringe, the mortality rate for those suffering from Ryson was somewhere in the ninety-five percent range. For the city-dwellers, it was less than two percent.

Such was life on Elypso. You were either born into a family that gave you a chance to thrive, or you were unlucky enough to be born into a family that lived on the Fringe, where your existence was guaranteed to be a daily struggle. At least, until you dropped dead.

Dariux filled a glass of water and shook out one of the remaining pills, carrying both into the back bedroom where his mother lay beneath the blankets on her bed. Her face was drawn and pale, the once vibrant purple streaks in her white hair were faded and dull. Even the shine in her once golden, sparkling eyes seemed to have dimmed. His mother was diminishing. Fading. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She struggled into a sitting position when he stepped into the room, grimacing as if the slightest movement hurt – which, it probably did. One of the more charming things about Ryson was that it attacked the joints and caused inflammation and chronic pain. The smallest, slightest movement, would send shockwaves of agony rolling through your body.

Dariux didn't know how his mother kept from crying out when he was pretty sure he'd be curled up, screaming and crying in pain.

"Thank you, dear," she said as he slipped the pill between her lips and helped her take a drink to wash it down.

He moved to help her lay back down, but she shook her head and took his hand. He felt a shadow of sorrow cross his heart as his mother looked into his eyes, an earnest expression on her face. Aside from the pain that shook her body, Ryson also eventually took a person's mind. Dariux sometimes saw it in his mother. She'd forget something or repeat a story she'd just told him five minutes before. She was lucid most of the time, but whenever she showed the signs of advanced stages of Ryson, it sent a spike of pain through his heart.

"You look tired, Dariux," she said. "You work too hard."

He sighed, thinking back to the nearly empty medicine bottle. "Not hard enough," he replied.

"I can see the toll it's taking on you, Dariux," she said. "You have too many worries. Worries you shouldn't have to carry. Your skin is too pale. There are dark circles under your eyes. You're too thin. You're wearing yourself down, my son. I worry about you."

Dariux shrugged and gave her a small smile. He didn't want her to worry – she had enough on her plate as it was. He did work hard, but it wasn't enough. He never had enough money to buy his mother's medicine and pay all the bills. His mother's medicine was a no-brainer. That would always be paid for first. When it came to everything else though, it was always a juggling act with Dariux having to decide whether to feed them or keep the lights on in their home.

Dariux squeezed her hand gently. Reassuringly. "There's nothing for you to worry about, mother."

"Of course there is, and it's my fault," she said and he watched her eyes fill with sorrow. "I think the time has come for you to let me go, Dariux – "

"No," he snapped. "Don't even think that, mother."

She gave him a small, sad smile. "We both know I'm not going to get better," she said softly. "It's only a matter of time. The medicine you work so hard to buy is only delaying the inevitable, Dariux. It's time to let me go."

Dariux shook his head. "No," he says. "In fact, I have a meeting today to discuss a new job. One that's going to make me a lot of money. More than enough to pay for your medicine. Maybe even enough to afford the cure."

Her smile was weak. Small. She looked so frail and it hurt Dariux to see her in that condition. But, not nearly as much as hearing her talking about letting her go. He wouldn't do it. Not as long as he was able to earn. Not as long as he was able to buy the medicine. Yeah, it might be only delaying the inevitable, but he'd delay it as long as he could. His mother was Dariux's only family and he would not let her go without a fight. Without doing all he could to save her.

And, if this new job he was meeting about panned out, he might be able to do just that.

"Dariux, I see the toll your work is taking on you," she said, her voice growing hoarse. "I want you to live your life. I want you to be happy – "

"My life is much happier with you in it, mother."

She squeezed his hand, but it was growing weak. Her strength already fading.

"I don't want to burden you any longer, Dariux," she said. "Just let me go."

He shook his head, not willing to hear another word. Tears welled in his eyes, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall. Refused to face the reality of the situation before him. No. There was hope. There was always hope.

"Maroq will care for you while I'm away, mother," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She nodded, but he could see her fading. Her eyes closed as sleep began to wash over her. Pull her under.

"Think about it, Dariux," she said, her voice heavy with sleep. "Let me go. Live your life for you, dear."

He stood there another moment as her breaths came slow and even. She was asleep. Letting out a long breath, Dariux turned away and contacted his mother's friend Maroq, letting her know that he had to leave.

Dariux took one last look at his mother, his heart heavy, and turned away to get ready. He had a meeting to get to in Gavorna.

~ooo000ooo~

Dariux climbed out of his speeder and dusted himself off, looking at the tall, shimmering glass buildings that seemed to pierce the pale violet sky above. Honestly, coming in from the Fringe into a city like Gavorna was like stepping into an entirely different world. You might as well be landing on a different planet.

Gavorna was wealth and splendor. They had lush parks, large fountains, beautifully designed buildings. Expensive shops and restaurants lined every street. Everything was clean. And everywhere you looked, the people were dressed well. Some tastefully understated, others outrageous examples of what passed for fashion. Cities like Gavorna were monuments of excess.

Life out on the Fringe though was quite different. It was dry. Dusty. Homes were built out of whatever materials we could find – assuming you knew somebody who could actually build a house. It was dry and dusty, everything perpetually coated with a thin layer of grime.

There were no high-end shops on the Fringe. No fancy restaurants. People in the Fringe wore whatever was handed down to them. Whatever they could make for themselves. Whatever they could steal. Life out on the Fringe was about scraping out a day-to-day existence. It was simply about trying to survive.

Dariux was one of the lucky ones though. He had a ship his father had left to him. It wasn't a great ship, but the Helios got the job done, allowing him to carve out a living as a smuggler – like his father before him. Given the fact that his father had been murdered by his clients after failing to deliver, Dariux knew it wasn't the safest or smartest profession. But, it usually paid well enough that – after maintenance on the ship – he could feed his mother and provide her with the medication she needed.

But he knew he was ultimately treading water. He just couldn't make enough to get her the cure for her Ryson's – a situation he hoped to change by taking this meeting.

The request for the meeting had come out of the blue. Dariux kept himself below the radar on most things – easy to do when you lived in the Fringe. But, somebody had found him. Somebody had sent him a communique, asking for a meeting. Somebody who said they had a very lucrative job offer for him.

Though he was leery about a job offer coming from out of nowhere like that, the idea that he could pay for his mother's treatments made him give it some serious thought. And after a particularly bad night, he decided to take the meeting even though he knew it came with plenty of risks.

Dariux knew the USF – the United Sol Federation – the governing body of star systems near and far, was cracking down on smugglers. The sentences handed down to smugglers – after a mockery of a trial – were usually unduly harsh. Sometimes, it resulted in a decree of death. The USF was serious about its campaign against smuggling and had really stepped up efforts to nip it in the bud.

At least, as far as smugglers that weren't under contract to the USF went. Dariux had been around for a while and was savvy enough to know that the USF did some shady things in their own right. Arms sales. Trafficking in illicit materials – even people, from rumors he'd heard. And to maintain themselves at an arm's distance from those activities, the USF often worked through intermediaries to employ government-approved smugglers.

The idea that he'd be working for the USF – in any capacity – sent a chill through the very core of him. Dariux wasn't overly political, but he did not like the government, either.

Which was why this meeting had filled him with such a sense of dread. He feared that he'd either be walking into a USF anti-smuggling trap or that the USF themselves would be offering a contract. Neither scenario was entirely appealing to him.

But – the chance to cure his mother made him roll the dice by taking the meeting.

Dariux caught his reflection in the plate glass of a nearby window and grimaced. Yeah, he looked like a guy from the Fringe. And walking alongside people who were as clean and well-dressed in a riot of color as the Gavornians – who mostly looked at him with contempt and disdain – only highlighted that difference between them. His pants were beginning to fray at the cuffs a bit and the cuffs of his shirt were starting to get a little threadbare. Everything he had was in black – you didn't wear white or light-colored clothing when you lived out on the Fringe.

About the only thing that could be said about his clothing was that at least it was clean. He didn't have occasion to wear his good clothes all that often, so they just hung in his closet most of the time.

Dariux consulted the datasleeve on his wrist and confirmed that he was headed in the right direction. He'd been instructed to meet at a certain restaurant at a certain time to discuss the parameters of the job offer.

He arrived at the restaurant on time and despite the nervous fluttering in his belly, he stepped through the open door. It chimed and slid shut behind him. It took Dariux's eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit restaurant, but when he did, he saw a man sitting at a table in the far corner. Two very large men who looked built for violence hovered behind him, their steely gazes locked onto his.

"You Aryk," he called out across the restaurant.

"Dariux," the man at the table called. "Good of you to join me. Please, have a seat."

Dariux looked around the restaurant, surprised to see that it was just the four of them – the mystery man and his two bodyguards, and himself – were the only people in the place. Which told him that if he could empty out a restaurant, he either had money or pull. Or probably both.

"I took the liberty of making sure we had privacy for our chat today," the man said. "Please, come sit and join me."

The man's voice was measured and even. He sounded educated. Articulate. Given the man's tan skin, blue eyes, dark hair, and pattern of speech, Dariux figured he was human. The two large men watched him closely as he approached, their eyes never leaving his as he took a seat at the table.

"Thank you for coming, Dariux," the man said. "And to answer your earlier question, yes, I am Aryk."

A woman carrying a tray approached the table and set down some plates of food. Dariux's stomach growled as he looked at the plates piled high with noodles, meats, and vegetables. Another woman set drinks down in front of them both. Dariux looked at the pale blue liquid in the glass curiously, not knowing what it was.

"Bachostian sweet tea," Aryk said, answering his unasked question. "It's wonderfully refreshing. Please, try it."

Dariux cast a look at the two bodyguards, who both continued to glower at him. He picked up the glass and sniffed it. The aroma was indeed sweet and laced with a fruit he didn't recognize. He'd never smelled anything like it in the marketplace that served the Fringe. Of course, they typically didn't have much in the way of extravagant or frivolous items in the marketplace.

Dariux took a small sip and the explosion of flavor in his mouth brought a smile to his lips.

"It's delicious," he said.

"One of my favorite drinks," the man said. "Are you hungry, Dariux?"

He looked at the heaping plates of food on the table in front of him and felt his stomach rumble once more. The aroma made his mouth water and he had to physically resist the urge to reach out and start grabbing food.

"Please. Eat," Aryk said. "We'll discuss business after we've had our fill."

A little hesitant at first, Dariux finally reached out and took a plate, scooping mounds of food onto his plate. With a little bit of everything on the plate in front of him, he dug in, grunting with delight as food, more delicious than anything he's had before, filled his belly.

Dariux ate for a good thirty minutes, barely pausing to take a breath between bites. Food wasn't exactly plentiful out in the Fringe, and to make sure he could care for his mother, he often went without. And food as amazing as what he was eating at that moment was unheard of. Given the fact that they had to scrape by just to survive, luxurious feasts like the one in front of him just didn't happen.

Dariux snuck a glance at Aryk, who was eating, but with nowhere near the gusto he was. The human gave him a smile and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks, knowing he must look like an animal – though, Dariux thought animals might have had better table manners.

Embarrassed, he wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, sitting back in his seat.

"Forgive me," Dariux said. "I don't – "

Aryk held up a hand. "No forgiveness needed," he said. "Believe me when I say, I know what it is to be hungry."

Dariux looked the man up and down. In his clean, fancy, well-tailored suit, nicely styled hair, and all of the expensive accessories he wore, Dariux doubted the man knew what real hunger was.

"I grew up in one of the poorest towns in New California, back on Earth," he said as if reading Dariux's mind. "Life there wasn't exactly unlike life out on the Fringe, from what I understand of it. Hard life."

"But you got out," Dariux said.

The man gave a slight shrug. "I did," he said. "I was one of the fortunate ones."

"How?"

"My employers found me," he said. "Thought I showed some promise and initiative. Some talent. And not wanting to die in the pit I grew up in gave me the necessary motivation. And through hard work and sheer determination, I am sitting where I am today."

Dariux pushed his plate back, his belly groaning and bloated. He'd had his fill.

"And what is it you do?" Dariux asked.

"I represent a consortium of individuals who – let's just say – provide entertainment and spectacle for the masses."

"The Gladius Syndicate," Dariux said, his tone low, almost reverent.

Aryk inclined his head. "Indeed."

Dariux had heard plenty of stories about the Gladius Syndicate – none of them good. They operated an illegal fighting ring – gladiators – who fought and died for the fun and amusement of people on worlds near and far.

The fights were continuously moving, their location only revealed to their client list at the last minute to avoid being raided by USF authorities. Though, Dariux had heard whispers that the Syndicate paid certain members of the USF a handsome sum to prevent them from being shut down and imprisoned.

To be a USF client usually meant you had wealth. The amount of money flowing through the Syndicate-controlled gambling ring that accompanied the gladiator fights was staggering.

Of course, those had all been rumors and stories. At least, until now.

Dariux looked at the man curiously. He wasn't exceptionally large – in fact, he was dwarfed by his bodyguards. He looked lean and fit, but he didn't have that hard edge to him Dariux would have expected for a seasoned killer. And Dariux thought to make it out of the fighting pits, that's what you had to be – a seasoned killer.

"Were you a gladiator?" he finally asked the man.

Aryk nodded. "I was," he said. "Are you surprised?"

A small grin touched Dariux's lips. "I would have assumed your bodyguards there were pit fighters before I ever thought you were."

"Success in the pits is about far more than brute strength," he said. "It's about skill. Cunning. Speed. I earned my freedom when my employers saw that I used my brain more than my brawn. They thought my skill set would transfer well into my new role. And, so it has."

A small knot formed in Dariux's stomach and twisted painfully. He had the sudden notion that Aryk was recruiting him to be a pit fighter. And though he was strong, smart, and capable, Dariux didn't think he had what it took to be a successful fighter. He would never back down from a fight and could always handle himself well, but he wasn't a killer.

"And what exactly is your role with the Syndicate?"

"Talent acquisition, primarily," Aryk replied, an almost predatory grin on his face.

"Honestly," Dariux said. "I don't think I'd be a very good pit fighter."

Aryk laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. There was a small piece of Dariux that was simmering with anger at being laughed at. He didn't like being laughed at and felt the frown stretching his lips as his eyes narrowed. There was that small piece of him that wanted to show the man in the fancy suit – who was obviously a long way from the pits – that he could fight and scrap better than he thought he could.

Eventually, the laughter tapered off and he held his hand up "Apologies," he said. "I meant no offense. I don't doubt your skill in a fight."

"Then what's so funny?"

"I think we just have a misunderstanding, is all," he replied. "Our practices for recruiting pit fighters is far different. No, I'm here to offer you a different job. One that doesn't require that you kill or be killed."

Dariux grunted, feeling slightly mollified. "What's the job?"

"We have need of your talents, Dariux."

"My talents?"

He grinned. "Let's not play coy," he said. "It's a waste of time and ultimately gets us nowhere. So, cards all on the table?"

Dariux nodded but remained silent. He had no idea where this was going, but he was starting to feel uneasy.

"You're a smuggler. By all accounts, one of the better ones out there. You keep a low profile and manage to stay off the USF anti-smuggling radar."

He looked at Aryk and his bodyguards, not knowing whether or not he was being set up by a USF anti-smuggling team or not. If he admitted to it, he may well be signing his own death warrant. If he didn't admit it though, he might be losing an opportunity at a job that could pay him very, very well. He knew the Syndicate had very deep pockets and the idea of getting a slice of that pie was sorely tempting.

"A – are you with the USF?" Dariux finally asked.

"A reasonable, even prudent question, but no, I'm not," Aryk replied. "I represent the Gladius Syndicate, as I told you. And as I'm sure you're aware, under the USF Charter for Colonial Law, entrapment by law enforcement is not permissible."

Dariux nodded. He was very familiar with the Colonial Law Charter, having read it a thousand times over before he embarked on his own smuggling career. The better he knew the law, the better he could find the loopholes that would help him circumnavigate it.

"I would offer to put that in writing for you, but we do our best to leave a very light footprint," Aryk said. "For obvious reasons."

Dariux nodded. "So, you need me to transport cargo?"

"We do," he said. "We experienced some – issues – with our last contractor. I'm looking for somebody we can trust. Somebody who does whatever is necessary to get the job done. And from what I've heard, that man could be you."

Dariux worked hard and had built a solid reputation for himself within certain circles. He was seldom without a job for long. The unfortunate part was that the jobs he took often paid a pittance and he was constantly on runs, just trying to break even. Just trying to survive.

But, getting into bed with the Syndicate, though fraught with peril, represented a major upgrade in terms of pay. If he got in good with them, he could cut the number of his runs in half and still be doing better than he was. It could even allow him to pay for his mother's cure.

"I've done a little light background on you, Dariux," Aryk said. "Nothing too invasive, of course. I just like to know who I'm potentially getting into bed with. I am, after all, in the business of protecting the interests of my employers."

Dariux nodded. "Fair enough. I've got nothing to hide."

"Obviously, I learned of your mother's – condition," he said.

"She's stage two," Dariux said softly. "Stage three isn't too far off."

"Well, it would seem we're in a position to help one another then," Aryk said. "And not a moment too soon."

"What's the rate?"

"Well, I can comfortably say that we'll be able to offer you two to three times the rates you are making out here," Aryk said. "More, if my employers are pleased with your work. If they're happy with you, there will be a very steady flow of jobs and you will make more than enough money to pay for your mother's cure. Not just the pills to extend her life, but to cure her."

Aryk's eyes bored into him. It made Dariux feel like he was searching and probing his soul. Could see his innermost thoughts and desires. Dariux saw that Aryk was a very smart man. A very shrewd man. He used the thing most important to him – saving his mother – and used it against him. Or rather, made it a key point of his sales pitch.

Still – the idea of making two to three times what he was making with his current clients was appealing. He couldn't say it wasn't. He could make enough to get his mother cured and get her not just out of the Fringe, but maybe off Elypso altogether. It was something he never even dared dream about before.

But, working for the Syndicate wasn't going to come without some significant risk. If they were happy with him, things would be great, and the money would be flowing like water from a faucet. If they weren't though, he had no doubt things could get real ugly in a hurry. Dariux was savvy enough to figure that the issues they had with their last contractor resulted in their last contractor being shot out the airlock of his own ship. Or maybe just catching a few bullets to the back of the head.

Yeah, the rumors and whispers about the Syndicate had plenty of unflattering, downright terrifying stories about how they dealt with people who displeased them.

"Think about it, Dariux," Aryk said. "You can cure your mother. You can save her life."

It was a tempting offer. It would give him the ability to save his mother's life. To get her out of there. Out of the Fringe. Off of Elypso. But, he was going to be no good to her if he crossed the Syndicate somehow and ended up dead. She'd be left alone. And then what?

"What do you say, Dariux?" Aryk said. "Are you ready to take a step forward in life? Do you have that talent and initiative I've been led to believe you have?"

Dariux let out a long breath, so many thoughts and emotions swirling around inside of him. There were so many pros and cons to taking the job. And the only thing he knew for certain was that if he passed up on this job offer, he wasn't going to get another one like it in his lifetime. He would forever be relegated to the ranks of smugglers who are just scraping by.

He'd also be putting himself and his mother in a lot of jeopardy if he accepted. If he made one wrong step or displeased the wrong person, he had no doubt that was going to be it for him. Which would also be it for her.

"Dariux?"

He looked up at the Syndicate man and nodded. "When do we start?"