[Cargo Vessel Keptanic 4, This is the Terminus Trading Company, approaching from your starboard side. We are prepared to accept the Cargo transfer on behalf of your passengers.] Admiral Drake announced as they approached the vessel that had contacted them.

[We appreciate it Terminus. Your destination is outside our designated routes, and the usual drop-off spot is not currently viable due to conflict. We are sending over a crew manifest now.] The Cargo Ship responded.

“Forty thousand people, each with under ten kilos of luggage. They must have left the planet with a single backpack, crammed into a cargo freighter for the emergency departure.” Nico informed Max faster than he could read the newly arrived data sheet.

“That’s pretty extreme, even if there was a natural disaster or whatever nonsense they told the locals, don’t you think they would have tried to bring more with them?” Max asked, then thought a bit longer and realized these were likely what were known as third-class refugee passengers.

They would have bought the cheapest available tickets to get off the planet since it was all they could afford, and if the Captain said they got to bring a backpack, they only left with a backpack. It was a practical decision, based on space. Every three loaded suitcases was another paying passenger that they could fit, so the suitcases were eliminated, and the hold was packed to standing room only.

“Do we have bunks ready for them?” Max asked, knowing that was highly unlikely.

“No, but the printers are working on it. We didn’t expect so many when we turned to intercept, so the initial print was only ten thousand places worth of the standard naval triple cots.” Nico informed him.

The First Battalion was on welcoming Committee duty every time they brought passengers on board or met new people, since both their supposed Commander and the Human Interaction Specialist, as Major Miller had started calling Nico, were in the same Battalion.

“That should be enough to get us started, have them arranged in a hold, and put the women with small children and the elderly in the cots. Everyone else can spread out on the floor, the hold has enough space for everyone to lie down anyhow.” Max decided.

“Major Miller is on it. They’re setting them up at the same bay where the refugees will arrive and should have them ready before we dock.” Nico informed him, getting into her Reaver best to go meet new people.

That meant that Max needed to put his Mobile Suit on and wear the face mask that would keep people from recognizing him and reporting their survival to the Rebels, who were already gunning for Terminus based on someone they thought was aboard.

The two ships docked without issues, using a man-door-sized docking ring only three meters squared. The main door on all their bays was large enough to fit a small freighter through, and that would only cause unnecessary procedures to safely bring the people aboard.

“Welcome to the Terminus Trading Company, everyone. Please, make yourselves at home here in this bay, and we will see to all your needs in just a few minutes once everyone is aboard.” Nico informed them repeatedly as they entered.

“No need to crowd the main floor, this hold is divided into three levels. Those of you with better physical health, please proceed upward and leave space on the main floor for the infirm.” Max called out to the crowd, getting them moving again when the room started to fill up.

By appearance, the bay was five levels with a large open mezzanine by the cargo door, but the levels were actually intended to better organize freight, instead of stacking it fifty meters high inside the ship. For humans, the ten-meter roof height within the levels felt positively spacious, and they now had more than enough room to spread out.

“That’s everyone. The Manifest matches the count that entered, so there shouldn’t be anyone left behind on the Cargo Vessel.” Major Miller reported once the transfer was done.

“Very good, thank you. Now, Captain, would you like a drink? We have some fine Rum aboard Terminus.” Max offered.

“Just a quick sip might hit the spot. I’m sure you understand, the Reavers have caused some trouble lately, and though I trust you with the people of my planet, I don’t really want to be seen doing business with you today.” The Cargo ship Captain explained.

“Understandable.” Max agreed, pouring two shots of Rum and downing one, before handing the second to the other Captain.

“Not bad at all. Now, business, what do you want to finish the job for us?” The Freighter asked.

“One-quarter of the third class rate for forty thousand souls, no more, no less,” Max informed him.

The man thought for a moment about bargaining, since he had taken all the risk of getting shot to pieces leaving an active war zone, but decided it was better not to tempt the Reavers to drop them somewhere unpleasant.

“Deal, in Kepler Credits.” The Captain agreed.

That was less than perfect since they were only used at the full value within the Empire, but Max wasn’t here for the money, he was here for the people.

“I can live with that, given the circumstance. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Max smiled, accepting the transfer of Credits on a digital storage chip, the secure equivalent of a mobile bank account.

The Cargo Ship Captain and his crew left immediately afterward, and Max looked at Nico.

“Did you see anything good in the list? You were surprisingly docile today and didn’t even try to mess with them one time. That’s not like you.”

“Since you asked, I did indeed find something good. Follow me, I put a tracker on it as it entered.” Nico laughed.

She led him through the hold, past the bunks where the infirm and young families were, to the ramp that led upward.

“Let me get my camera ready, this is going to be great.”