the smuggler’s bible


Greer wakes up with a hangover. For a blissful fifteen seconds, she’s too groggy to remember that it’s her shift to train the rookie.

“Goddamnit,” she says later, zipping into her coveralls and ratcheting down her gear belt. “Goddamn my aching head, goddamn ventilation shaft day and goddamn the useless rookie.”

“Are the vents that bad?”

“Shut up, rookie. The vents are fine if you carry cash.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t. Think about every piece of contraband you ever bought. Ever wonder how it all makes it past station security?” Greer motions vaguely. “Why it’s all sort of dusty?”