Aaron shuffled in the hard plastic chair, unable to get comfortable wherever he sat. It had to be intentional, he mused, put the prisoner off balance--that or the richest Corp in the Pact Worlds could figure out how to make a decent chair. The room was bright and clean, making Aaron’s battered continence stand out even more. He glanced at the prominent clock ticking away on the wall--an illusion, since the timepiece was plainly digital.

After an eternity, the door clicked open, and a smartly dressed woman in the grey livery of Abadar Corp entered, a data slate in her hand. Barely acknowledging Aaron’s presence, she took a seat across from him. She placed the slate upon the tabletop, and it flared to life, revealing pictures, videos, report cards, and memorabilia from Aaron’s birth until now. He tried not to flinch at the intimidation tactic, but he could help but twitch at the picture of his mother--the recent photo of his mother.

The woman folded her hands, and across the table. “Welcome back to Absalom Station, Mr. Sume, I trust you’re aware of the reason for our meeting?” All formal, with an undercurrent of sadistic glee.

“Well... “ Aaron shifted again, and decided to lie. “I don’t, I got stationside, on the way home, when your goons grabbed me.”

“Loan Enforcement Officers, not goons.” She flicked a finger, and brought up a familiar contract signed in red ink. “You’re nine years, eight months, twenty-three days overdue on your loan payment.”

“A little difficult to keep up on those, when you’re dead, and the closest thing to intelligent life on the moon are goblins an’ undead.” He replied.

 “The corporation is aware of your, unique position Mr. Sume. The terms of the agreement clearly state that defaulting carries the penalty of organ forfeiture.” She gives another small smile. “Which we have opted not to pursue at this time.”

“How magnanimous.” He snarks.

“Even selling them to truly desperate bidders, total reclamation would only recoup eighteen percent of what you owe. It’s simply good business.” She flips to a series of recordings from his high school years, grades, and debate transcripts flash across the screen. “Your sister was a Starfinder, was she not?”

“She was.” Aaron gave a terse reply, trying to size up the woman and determine what she’s playing at. “Not a famous one, but savvy enough to get back alive, and keep us comfortable.”

“And well-educated.” She added. “Until the accident.” The screen shifted to documents bearing the Starfinder Seal--document the Corp shouldn’t have.

“I suppose.” He replied, then leaned forward. “Now, since we’re recountin’ my life story to your bosses, who are no doubt watching on the monitor. Let me make one thing clear. The map was a lie. The Society didn’t even have the decency to send out a search party to look for her, and no captain would take me. Thus I flashed a wayfinder, offered your clerk a stake in something he’d be reclaimed for turning down and signed my soul away to get that ship and find her.” He leans back to his original position. “The same damn ship that killed me, and left me stranded on that moon for a decade.”

The woman remained unmoved by his story, merely marking down a few boxes on her dataslate. “That certainly covers much of what I wished to discuss with you. Shall we move on to your repayment plan?”

Aaron nodded, without saying more.

“We’ve opened a new Thasteron mine in the deserts of Akiton; adjusting for compounding interest, inflation, late fees, and acquisition fees you will only need to serve a term of two hundred and sixteen years, give or take a few months, to repay the Corporation in full.”  She taps the tablet, it shifts to a densely written document bearing the Abadar Corp logo, and slides it across to him. “Sign, and you may begin repayment immediately.”

Aaron pushed it back, without even looking down at the slate. “No.”

“Sign it, or we will be within our rights to terminate our agreement.”  There was a soft hiss of gas, as a wicked looking laser descended from the ceiling.

“Your company won’t kill me..” He announced, with the smug confidence of someone who’s figured out maddening riddle. “If the end goal was to throw me in a mine or reduce me to a pile of ash, they wouldn’t have sent a team to pick me up, and I certainly wouldn’t be sitting across from someone capable of affording a Gold-Tier Travel Suit.”

“The map was our only concern.” She countered.

“And for that you needed my transcripts? You needed to prove you’d stolen classified Starfinder documents? To threaten my mother? I think not. I think this is a test. One I just passed.”

The woman looks at him strangely for a moment, then takes the data slate, checking a box, and handing it back to him--the mining contract replaced with something very different. “I am Ms. Zeech, and I will be your supervisor. Welcome to AbadarCorp, Mr. Sume.”