Now that we can afford it

The crowd erupted into fresh bets as the Voraxians lumbered away, their armored backs swallowing the neon light. Adam turned the chit over in his palm, raising an eyebrow at Susan. "So. We're space pirates now?" She flexed her thighs experimentally, wincing at the ache, then smirked. "Nah. We're the monsters they send after the pirates."

The coins clattered onto the counter with a sound like loose teeth—half currency, half literal molars from species Susan couldn't pronounce. The Krothian innkeeper didn't blink, just swept the pile into a drawer with a three-fingered hand and slid a key chit across the scarred metal surface. The room smelled like recycled air and bad decisions, the bunk beds bolted to the walls at suspicious angles. Susan tossed their stolen plasma pistol onto the thinner mattress, which sagged like a dying lung. "Home sweet shit hole."