Space, lovingly referred to as the final frontier. For any intrepid space cowboy, the furthest depths have yet to be explored. Pirates, black holes, unstable factions, renegades — dark matter is the least of your problems.
The year is 2453, and the concept of "manifest destiny" now extends throughout the skies. Every planet from here to Heifong is in the process of being claimed by some intrepid entrepreneur or his lifelong rival, under the aegis of opposite principalities. But the individuals strong enough — or crazy enough — to actually inhabit those planets are far from the wealthy and influential, who prefer to live more comfortably on older, less unstable space stations.
These colonists are a varied lot; they have nothing else to live for, nothing else to lose...or something to run from. Outlaws or idiots? That's the real question. Some seek their fortune, others flee bad reputations; some seek simple lives, while others doggedly pursue their own death. One thing's clear: only the lucky survive.
It's fuel that poses the greatest problem. Amongst the myriad races and powers, fuel is the common currency — and, slowly but surely, it's running out. Worth far more than life itself, every colony depends on how much they have. Fuel transport is a more dangerous profession than piracy, and there are times when honest men have no choice but to become pirates.