“ I’m going to hang them by their tool s , and beat them with sticks! ” Harah roared in the cramped compartment. The fuel gauge read empty, which was why his small freighter dropped out of phase so violently. So much so, that Harah had been ejected from his cot, hitting his head against the bulkhead. He could still feel his skull ringing. Staring at the gauge, he theorized that the shady roustabouts at Port Lancel siphoned fuel-- not a surprising act in more remote areas that don’t produce much of their own. They would fill your reserves with inert liquid with the same density, leaving just enough actual go-juice in the line to get you off and running into phase, and leave you stranded far enough away to where you couldn’t sub-light back. Harah stood there in his impotent anger, alone, with just the subtle hum of shipboard electrical to keep him company. Thankfully, his arcanite generator would power that indefinitely as far as he knew. At least, longer than what probably r...