Working for the zealot's permit leaves the hold nearly empty for most trips. Or at least it would if I didn't ply the trade routes to fill it.
There are precious few missions available directly and they still don't trust me completely it seems. At least the authorities leave me alone now, and the station is more civil about docking. The gun crews are still twitchy though: guess it goes with the job description.
Performance enhancers and progenitor cells seem to be most popular at the moment, though that can change when a large batch lands at the dock just before you.
"Ha! Having fun while staying young." The words slip out along with a wry smile, and I'm momentarily distracted from watching the computer's calculations taking place for the next jump.
This is the zealots that we're talking about though. A strange thought crosses my mind, quickly followed by a frown that furrows my brow. What would zealots want with performance enhancers?
That strange question fades away, not gaining any traction, and is replaced by a stranger thought and image.
"There's always someone, somewhere, taking a hot firebrand from a zealot."
I'll have to remember to share that with Stannel, the next time I see him.