The streaking stars rushing by the cockpit during light-speed travel are often thought of by the uninitiated as beautiful, and indeed there is an entrancing quality to them that even veteran spacers will admit to. But what they know is that every one of those incandescent beams of light is a burning fusion reaction tens to thousands of times the size of an entire world and that at these speeds it isn't reactions but precise calculations made hours or even days ago that control one's fate. Within the safety of major hyperspace lanes reaching one's destination is, usually, a forgone conclusion. But smugglers routinely journey off the beaten track, the cavalier attitudes for which they're infamous the product of the knowledge that on their next trip might be their last.