Audie had been stuck at The Outpost for three days, and he was out of credits for the good stuff. He wanted to see the center of the galaxy. He wanted strange planets, stranger drinks, and a ship that would take him and Fox there. But every captain wanted payment up front, and Audie's pockets held lint and one dented coin. He drummed his fingers on the bar and hatched a plan. Fox sat beside him, clutching his black backpack like a man guards his own ribs. Fox was Audie's oldest friend, a scholar who read footnotes for fun. He was also the last person alive who still owned a piece of Earth. Inside the pack sat old paper, a cracked leather wallet, a few brittle photographs. Earth was gone. These scraps were all that remained of it. "Hear me out," Audie said. "Collectors pay fortunes for real organic Earth stuff. Paper. Leather. We sell it, we buy passage, we go everywhere." Fox pulled the pack closer. "This is my home, Audie. You want me to price my home." "I want you to see the whole galaxy instead of one dead rock." Audie put his coin on the bar. "That's all we've got otherwise." Fox stared at the coin a long time. Then he stood. "One item. I choose which. And I set the floor." They walked to the pawn shop crammed between two shut-down hangars. The sign buzzed pink and blue over a heap of alien junk. Rusted guns leaned against dented armor. A little fire burned in a barrel by the door. Inside, dust hung thick, and shelves sagged under keepsakes from a thousand worlds. The owner leaned over the counter, a heavyset alien with three eyes and a jeweler's loupe. "Buying or wasting my time?" Fox laid the leather wallet on the counter. His hand shook. "Organic. From Earth. Actual cowhide." The owner froze. All three eyes fixed on the wallet. The loupe came up. Long silence. Then the alien reached under the counter, slow, like touching something holy. "Earth's been ash for years," the owner said. "Nobody brings me real Earth anymore." He named a number. Audie's jaw dropped. It was enough for passage twice over. Fox's fingers hovered over the wallet. Audie watched his friend fight himself. Then Fox slid it across the counter and looked away. The owner counted out the credits, bright chips that clinked into Audie's palm. "Deal." But as they turned to leave, the owner spoke again. "You've got more Earth in that bag. I can smell the paper." He grinned wide. "So can others. Word travels here. Every scavenger between us and the core will want a piece of your friend now." Outside, Audie clutched the credits. They finally had their fare. Fox held his lighter pack and said nothing. They had money for a ship at last. They also had a target painted on their backs.