Mr. Johnson was a handsome, if nondescript, man of unidentifiable age.  Any time that the Angels had been in his presence he had been wearing an expensive and impeccably arranged suit.  His office on Absalom Station was simple, but the heavy wooden desk, the small paintings, and the vaulted ceiling all spoke to a great deal of wealth.<br/><br/>“I have your first mission.”  Mr. Johnson said without looking up from where he was writing using a pen and paper, a decidedly old-school method.  “Have you heard of Squatter’s Haven?”  He waited little more than a heartbeat as he flourished his signature on the paper and careful slid it into a drawer.<br/><br/>“Well, no matter.”  He said as he looked up, having not waited for an answer.  “It was a colony ship, back in the day.  It was lost with all hands to the Swarm, ten thousand people dreaming of a bright future.  Some salvagers found it a few decades later, patched it up, dragged it back to the Diaspora.”<br/><br/>“These days.”  He swished his fingers through the air and a projection of a space station appeared.  “It’s been added to, other wrecks mostly.  The salvagers went bankrupt, and some people with nowhere else to go moved in.  It’s a home for them now, and not a pleasant place I’m told.  Crime, danger, drugs.  Fifty odd thousand people live there now.”<br/><br/>Mr. Johnson sighed, as he flicked a finger and the image vanished.<br/><br/>“A shame more can’t be done, but even money has limits.  The problem is simple.  A rash of people have gone missing recently, most have turned up dead a few weeks or a couple of months laters.  They are almost exclusively young attractive women, but from all walks of life.  The only link is a drug that has been identified in their system.  The dealers, I’m told, call it Bliss.  It is a powerful aphrodisiac, it makes people very suggestible and lowers inhibitions.  It is also extremely addictive, and poorly made.  Prolonged use ranges from highly toxic to entirely lethal.  That all is bad enough, but it is delivered as an aerosol.  A spray to the face, or a mist in the air, and, well.  You can probably guess.”<br/><br/>“They arrested a couple of dealers.  A bit of pressure was applied, and they talked.  The stuff is smuggled in from Squatter’s Haven.  The place is outside anyones jurisdiction, and the military certainly won’t get involved, so it’s been left up to us.”