The voice over your radio transceiver, less than a light second's distance with basically no lag perceivable, was a thin reproduction of a gruff drawl. Scratchy with a spacer's dry throat from badly maintained air recycling systems. The voice added, "After that you're salvage."
"Bastard," you said. You keyed your microphone back on. "I had a deal with Spencer. Why isn't she here?"
"Feds shot her down over Trax II, reported as 'armed terrorist refused surrender.' Thirty seconds," the stranger's voice said.
"Shit. Listen. I want to keep making this drop but I can't do that if you scrag me, genius," you said, hurrying to get it out. "I also can't do it if I crash into insolvency and get dragged off to the Perseid mines for a debt slave, which is step two after I give you this cargo without the anonymous credit chit Spencer always brought me!"
Dead wave on the radio. You held your breath. Then let it out and transmitted again, and you said, "time's up and you didn't shoot. Can we deal like I did with Spencer?"
Your screens lit up and told you a ship five times the size of yours just moved out of eclipse of the third-best probable fit for which asteroid the signal source was hiding behind based on your computer's predictions. The signal came direct then, not bounced around and thinned out, and the pirate's full voice just sounded tired. He said, "Dock and we'll unload you. I'll come aboard you, unarmed, alone, to talk."
You and your ship are one thing, to speak of, since you fly a solo rig. His offer was the same as Spencer's first offer of truce when you met her. Also at the wrong end of her seeker mines and kinetic killers, come to think. You let out a shaky breath off mic before keying on to agree. You understood the paranoia; these pirates were also rebels. And so are you, running them weapons materials, if any fed rats ever found out. Cell based organization, minimum communication links, it kept the rebellion safer from being crushed - but broken links like this could kill you as easily as a run in with the cops, or the banks' debt enforcers.
You moved your metal second skin in tandem with the huge body that loomed up to yours, and joined deftly, without impact, only soft contact. The larger ship's gantry arms took hold of you roughly, drawing you into its belly. Cold void but you hoped you'd get paid instead of shot today. One day at a time.