Crossing his office in a hurried stride, Lester Dore, Chief Captain of the IronHell pirate group, rubbed his freshly shaven face, amazed at the good job. Breakfast had been stim patches instead of soyeggs with kaf, and he felt supernaturally alert. Every sense sharp as a laser. Good. He’d need that today. Belting on a holstered pistol, he sat in his chair, and adjusted the buttons on his immaculate uniform. It had been awhile since he’d called a meeting of the whole staff.