Numerous events have led up to this point. From the time he was released from military service - five years and an entire star system away - Rorian Deevergh has amassed a group of people, some of whom he can even call friends, who are collectivly hunted by the authorities. And in a world where all transactions are relayed to a central authority which automatically logs and ID's everything from the purchase of a fuel stick to the destruction of a planetary system, that can create problems.
As for Rorian's gang of fugitives, they found just one way around the problem. Killing for a price and without recourse was a job in which they all excelled and one that allowed them to retain at least a comfortable style of living. Payment in rare metals. No questions. If you live, that's your business.
On the surface, this was just a normal job. The patron funding the current operation will probably remain unknown, but the mission brief suggested that this particular mission would be a piece of cake. The political implications of the mission were glossed over - they were motivated by money, not politics. The payment, half up front, half on completion, was regular. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The only thing that aroused curiosity was the destination. A backwater planet called Graveyard. The name aroused some faint disturbance in Rorian's memory. But what the hell, so did most names he heard nowadays.