RENEGADE LOVE

ANN AGUIRRE

CONTENTS

Title Page

About the Book

Dedication

Copyright Page

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Author’s Note

He’s relentless. He’s aggressive. His armor is scarred to hell.

Toth Krag is infamous among bounty hunters. Nobody has ever seen his face and lived to tell the tale. He doesn’t fail. He doesn’t quit. And he doesn’t take prisoners. But maybe he’s getting soft. For once, he showed mercy, and no good deed goes unpunished, so now he’s tracking the deadbeats who run Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle.

She’s casual. She’s spontaneous. She never liked Earth that much anyway.

Yara Duncan is always at the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s how she wound up as the human attraction in a space circus. Frankly, it’s the best gig she’s ever had. Aliens pay to watch her eat and do puzzles, and she gets to see the galaxy free of charge. She’s enjoying the adventure, until the scariest hunter in the universe shows up. For some reason, he thinks she’s in charge, and he’s determined to drag her back to face his employers.

Yara doesn’t run from her problems, and Krag doesn’t know what to do with a human who seems more interested in what he looks like under his armor.

This time, the hunter becomes the hunted in the wildly unpredictable game of love…

For Melissa Jolly,

Without whom none of this

would be possible

Copyright Information

RENEGADE LOVE

Copyright © 2022 by Ann Aguirre

Kindle Edition

Edited by Christa Soulé Désir and Jon Reyes

Cover art by Kanaxa

Formatting by BB eBooks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form whatsoever, without written permission from the author except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

So here we are, wrapping up the Galactic Love series. I can’t believe I got to write three wild love stories with truly alien leads. It’s all thanks to you, devoted readers of my weird and wonderful stories. I’m thrilled that your enthusiasm carried us all the way to the end.

Toth Krag / Dastoor Oren is my homage to Thane Krios. (Yes, I chose the initials of the bounty hunter name intentionally) No, he’s not precisely the same, not an assassin, and his history is different. He doesn’t have a kid and he’s definitely not dying. But I tried to encapsulate that energy somewhat while creating a new character entirely. I love morality chain stories, and that’s what this is. I’ve added a family reunion in space, a heist, and a bad-ass but anxious plant person to the mix. I had a blast with this story. Hopefully you will as well.

Thanks to Christa Desir and Jon Reyes for making RENEGADE LOVE the best it could be. I appreciate their efforts and expertise more than I can say. The whole Tessera team is so talented!

Much gratitude to them as well.

As ever, thanks to my friends. You know who you are but special mention goes to Lilith Saintcrow, who makes everything better. Thanks to the denizens of a certain discord and to the members of my Facebook readers’ group.

Thanks to my family for understanding the odd hours I keep and for picking up the slack when I wander off into my brain and don’t hear what you’re saying. Special thanks to Alek because 9 wouldn’t exist without him. As ever, he assisted with thorny plot problems and helping me make this book the best (and wildest) it could be.

That’s it. We’ve come to the end. What are you still doing here? Go read about Oren and Yara and enjoy learning how they do space crime.

[  1  ]

TOTH KRAG WAS THE TWELFTH of his name.

Or rather, the twelfth to inherit the name and suit from the bounty hunters’ guild. The reputation came along with it, everyone his predecessors had hunted and killed, each trophy taken, and reward collected. A name like that carried weight, dragged fear in its wake like a titanic beast, and it usually meant there was no fight. Enemies heard the stories beforehand, so by the time he caught up with his quarry, they were sufficiently terrified to surrender at once. Since he donned the armor, nobody had spoken to him like a person or attempted to connect with him.

Not until the Tiralan scientist here on Vaadla Station, pleading for her lover, who then reciprocated her selflessness. Seldom had he seen such devotion between two beings. And it haunted him as he tracked the next quarry through the station. The Tiralan’s determination to reach him still resonated because so many who came before believed him to be immune to such things as kindness or mercy. And he was supposed to be. He had been drilled until all the weakness bled out of him. Hunt. Find. Kill. The punishments were immediate and grievous if he attempted to resist.

The guild was…colorful in their allocation of cruelty, alternating between starvation and physical harm. They had made him obedient through brute force, but he loathed the killing, a bad soldier who chafed at following orders. Hunting should be reverent and purposeful, necessary for his own survival. This was required only by those who sought to profit from his adroitness in tracking his quarry.

Time and again, he had sought another way, tried to imagine a different life. He could conceive of no way to escape. Until he paid for the cost of his training and equipment, he was bound to the armor and the name, indentured to the guild. They had made him pay off the amount granted to his kith first, as a good faith payment, an advance received before he could earn revenue on successful bounties.

They’d told him repeatedly that he was worthless until he completed his training and afterward? He was their creature, bound to a contract he hadn’t even understood when he signed.

Thankfully, his next target scrolled across his helmet again, reminding him why he’d deviated in the first place. New objective, delinquent borrower: VOLANT’S FABULOUS SPECTACLE. Responsible Party: YARA DUNCAN. PAYMENT DEFAULT. TO BE DELIVERED TO THE MARJAN COLLECTIVE. That was bad news for Yara Duncan. The collective generally didn’t bother with niceties and often retrieved their credits via flesh or organ trade.

Krag came up in a freight lift and checked the station level by level. While it was likely that his target would be with the rest of the troupe, he preferred to be methodical. On the lower tiers, he found maintenance droids and a few biological personnel who serviced them. None of them attempted to interfere with his mission.

He’d worked Vaadla Station before, and sentients gave him a wide berth. Only the plodding labor droids trundled at the same pace, despite laying visual receptors on him. While they might be able to scan and identify, they didn’t possess the capacity for fear. Eventually, he came to the top floor, the brightest and flashiest section full of entertainment options. Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle had rented a huge annex for their performances. The show was impressive, an entire luxury vessel devoted to curating unusual aliens and artifacts, and there were live performances as well. They seldom stayed in one place for long, so he needed to wrap this job up swiftly. Not that he’d be permitted to rest when he did. As soon as the guild registered successful completion, they’d send another task without delay.

They assured him that they would process his release as soon as he paid off his debt, but since their accountants were responsible for tracking all credits, he had a feeling that he might not be able to trust their figures. They might well be siphoning funds or not applying his payments properly, and how would he know the difference? No process would allow him to request an audit or an investigation.

I need to escape, somehow. I can’t live this way anymore.

Pausing, he scanned for his target. Nothing. Nothing but petty criminals with bounties not worth pursuing. Advertisements flashed in dizzying hues, trying to entice him to pause for leisure services while a fast-chatting sentient called out the virtues of his establishment personally. Vaadla wasn’t the seediest station he’d come across, more of a vacation spot for those who couldn’t afford better. The most terrifying place in the galaxy? That honor belonged to the Marjan hideout, which was where he’d take Yara Duncan when he located her. This wasn’t a kill contract since they wanted her body intact to use all the parts and chemicals.

A brilliant sign flashed the name VOLANT’S FABULOUS SPECTACLE on the other side of the promenade. Krag didn’t need to demand the crowd make way; bodies naturally moved out of his path as he marched forward. Outside the venue, there was a queue waiting for admission, and they scattered when he approached as well. Nobody attempted to prevent him from entering the premises, another benefit of the armored suit and visible heavy weapons. His every step resonated with the whir of hydraulics. Inside the site, it was dim with lights flashing in various colors, a show already in progress.

At once, the space erupted into chaos. Those who didn’t know who he was recognized that he posed a threat from the xerxax he carried.

They’re fleeing and screaming. Why do they always run?

Even without him saying a word, patrons started a mass exodus, nearly trampling one another to escape. Many would be wounded at this rate, and he would take the blame in the end. Krag entered Volant’s, and carnage ensued. And so the story grew. In the end, it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t fired a shot.

Krag tapped the button to vocalize, aware that the suit made his voice deeper and much more intimidating, layered with reverb. “I have come for Yara Duncan. Immediate compliance will result in optimal results.”

Then he waited. Normally someone else dragged the target to him, whimpering, wailing, and occasionally evacuating their bio-waste systems, but delivery tended to be quick.

Rarely did he have to speak anything that resembled a threat. Yet this time, everyone blasting by seemed more concerned about saving themselves than producing his target to neutralize the threat. He waited a little longer and cursed silently.

We do this the hard way.

Heading for the private quarters attached to the public venue, he pushed through the thinning crowd. Data sticks and souvenirs had been dropped in the general confusion; once precious personal possessions crunched beneath his heavy boots. Some of the performers were hiding here because they had nowhere else to go on the station. Possibly they also lacked the resources to seek refuge elsewhere.

Not my problem.

“Yara Duncan,” he boomed as he smashed his xerxax into the door control panel. “If you have any regard for your comrades, present yourself immediately.”

The first room housed a pair of terrified Barathi, unique in their lack of head ruffs and lack of dorsal spines; their colors were odd too, but he wasn’t here to admire the unusual beings who made up Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle. Briefly he considered asking them where she was, but judging by their posture, he wouldn’t get any sensible answers from them. They seemed to be frightened beyond the capacity for speech. Once, he’d been darkly amused by such reactions, especially when he’d done so little to merit it in his tenure as the fearsome Toth Krag. Now, he was numb to such responses.

In the next room, he found a single Tiralan, and that made him think of the one he’d let go, along with the one who’d pleaded for her life and had been willing to die for her. You understand, don’t you? a hauntingly familiar voice whispered. You tried to die for me, didn’t you? But Krag had failed, and his beloved perished anyway. Sacrifice only resulted in pain and punishment. That was the lesson he’d learned.

Yet that uncomfortable sensation lingered, nettling him with the certainty that he’d been in the presence of something beautiful—that he’d found rare flora growing amid the cracks in the metal and that he’d chosen to step over it, not to crush it beneath his boots. If those two sentients spoke about what he’d done, the guild would silence them. Krag should have issued a warning to that effect before he moved on, but he’d only wanted to get away from the warmth and intimacy that reminded him of a time when he’d thought his life could be different.

“Do you know where Yara Duncan is?” he asked the Tiralan.

“She did a live scene earlier. I’m not sure where she is now. Check her room.”

“Which one?”

“Last one on the right. Please don’t kill me.” The last word broke on a quaver, and the Tiralan cowered away from him, head tendrils trembling violently.

I’m used to this response.

Not accustomed to hearing, You want to let me go.

How had Qalu, the Tiralan from earlier, known? Doubt gnawed at him because he hadn’t shown signs of weakness. But it wasn’t the time to reflect on that perplexing encounter. If he didn’t apprehend Yara Duncan now, she might escape, and the guild would deduct from his reward, resulting in less being cut from his indenture. It would take ten more cycles to earn his freedom at his current work rate, assuming he wasn’t penalized for battles damaging habitations, government structures, or personal transports.

“Do not interfere,” he warned.

“I’m staying here. There’s no way I’m getting between you and whatever issues you have with Yara.”

Part of Krag wished he had the liberty to explain that it was nothing personal. The guild registered the contracts, then the work was assigned. It truly was that simple. If he refused to hunt Yara Duncan, someone else would benefit, and this job seemed too simple to refuse. For once, he’d even been in the right place at the right time.

As Krag stepped out of the Tiralan’s room, however, a bipedal being bounded into the corridor. “I’m Yara Duncan. Why are you looking for me?”

FOR YARA, THINGS HAD BEEN damn weird for a while.

A few years back, she went to watch a meteor shower at her friend’s ranch, and that was her first mistake. Her second was not running when she saw the lights in the sky. At the time, she thought it was an elaborate prank on a reality show. She’d expected someone to say she was on Fear Antics, right up until the point when she got zapped along with a herd of cattle. She never did get to see the meteor shower, and she woke up in a cargo bay full of cows and aliens. The cows were valuable; humans, not so much.

She’d gotten dumped on the nearest station because they didn’t care to waste fuel bringing her back, and for a while, she lived hand to mouth, unable to communicate. That…well, it’d been shit. Eventually, she was “discovered” by the scout at Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle. First thing, they’d implanted her with a chip so she could accept their offer of employment formally, and then her life got way better.

She had no idea how long she’d been gone from Earth, but her new gig was awesome. A couple of times a day, she pretended not to know she was being watched while she did basic puzzles, ate food, or wandered around. Aliens oohed and ahhed at her, and she got paid. She also got to see the galaxy on Volant’s dime. So far, it had been fun as hell. Easy work and she liked being the center of attention anyway.

Until the robo-mech stomped in, shouting her name. What’s that famous line? I have a bad feeling about this.

For half a second, she considered running. But that might get somebody hurt, and the folks at Volant had been good to her. If possible, she’d like that to continue working here. Who the hell did I piss off anyway? As she studied the stranger, she was careful not to make any sudden moves. This dude was armed, carrying a weapon like nothing she’d ever seen before, not even science fiction movies. There were other armaments on the suit, probably laser and maybe something that would disintegrate her into dust, just like Boba Fett.

The silence had lingered too long. Did he not understand me? Just as she was about to repeat the question, the mech said, “You will surrender.”

“Are you a cop? What am I being charged with?”

Did I commit a space crime? That’s too bad, I’d prefer choosing to break the law instead of doing it accidentally.

It had been a challenge finding a proxy who was willing to receive credits for her. All her credit sticks technically belonged to Farfi the Incredible Annelid who couldn’t even hold one; there was no how-to guide for any of this. In her first days on station, she’d nearly starved before a kindly alien took pity on her and started feeding her like a pet. Yara developed new appreciation for house cats after that.

She didn’t move, and neither did the mech. There was a slurping sound, and Farfi the Incredible Annelid wobbled around the corner, joining the standoff. Then Farfi said, “You’re talking to Toth Krag.”

From the corner of her mouth, she answered, “I have no idea what that means.”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Krag said. “You will surrender.”

“Or what?”

“I deliver your body instead.”

Okay, she could see why everyone was running and screaming now. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt.” Especially me. “But can I ask a few questions? I’m not stalling or resisting, just trying to figure things out.”

“Ask,” said the bounty hunter. “Three questions. Beyond that, I will consider you hostile and proceed accordingly.”

A shiver went through her, weird because it wasn’t entirely bad. His voice was on the scary-deep end of the spectrum, sort of Vader-ish, but it was also giving her tingly ASMR feelings, like she could listen to him order her around for a while and—okay, no. This is not the time. Get your head on right.

“What’s the bounty for?” she asked.

“Nonpayment.”

She blinked. That made no sense whatsoever. “Can you check into that please? I’ve never received any credits from an external agency. I don’t even have official status in the Coalition, so I can’t apply for a loan. They pay me under the table here…I’m an undocumented alien.” The grim humor of that almost made her break into nervous giggles.

She quelled the urge.

Toth Krag regarded her from behind the faceplate, and it was so unnerving not to have any sense of what he was thinking. Finally, he responded, “I didn’t understand all of that. Your translator chip must be malfunctioning.”

“It does that sometimes. Human idiom is confusing, apparently. But did you understand me asking you to check into the contract because I’ve never taken out a loan?”

“Affirmative. Querying the guild.”

“Thank you,” she said.

There, we can be civil. You don’t need to shoot me or dissolve my head.

Somehow, she kept from fidgeting, though she could feel the other performers watching her. A few slipped away while the bounty hunter was otherwise engaged, and soon, the rest followed. Farfi headed out at last with a mournful warble. Eventually, it was just Toth Krag and her, standing in the deserted annex.

Fuck, that bad feeling is getting worse. What’s going on here?

The entire troupe had bailed on her.

They’re probably on the ship, ready to get the hell off Vaadla. I’m on my own. Again. At least I have a credit stick on me, and they didn’t repo my translator chip.

Yara eyed the bounty hunter. It wasn’t exactly true that she was alone. She had Toth Krag, but he didn’t seem like the soft and cuddly sort. Hard to tell with all the armor.

“Full details of the contract follow…” Krag read the charges against her, including the amount she’d borrowed as proprietor of Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle.

“Wait! The what now? I’m not the owner! I just work here. They feed me and pay a little, and I get to travel, but I’m not in charge of this traveling space circus! Something’s gone completely wrong here. You need to talk to Tu-san. He—”

“Is not the debtor on record. You are.”

“Oh my God.” Her knees threatened to buckle. “I knew the show wasn’t doing great, but I never imagined they were borrowing from loan sharks. Or that they used my name to do it! Please, this is a big mistake.”

“I don’t know what a lending predator is, but the words are oddly applicable to the Marjan Collective. I have indulged your curiosity, Yara Duncan. My patience is at an end. Will you surrender, or do you prefer to escalate to violence?”

Yara steadied her nerves and reminded herself that she was an indomitable Midwestern farm girl, and she’d never liked Earth that much anyway. That had been why she didn’t even try to get back when she was first abducted and went where the galaxy carried her. Now, it seemed, the universe wanted her to go with Toth Krag.

So be it.

“I surrender,” she said. “Take me to your leader.”

“I don’t understand.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll get used to it. That’s my way of saying, let’s go, cowboy. Saddle up, show me your shiny metal spaceship.”

“Though I’m unclear on the entirety of your declaration, overall composition sounds like enthusiastic compliance.”

“Yep! That’s me, enthusiastically compliant.” She took a step toward him, then added, “Wait, can I grab stuff from my room before we go?”

“You wish to…pack?” From his tone, he wasn’t used to this level of enthusiastic compliance.

She tried to look adorably pleading, angling her eyes up. That might not work on aliens, though, especially since she had no idea what he was hiding under that dang helmet. “If there’s time. I mean, it’s everything I own.”

Yara expected him to say that she wouldn’t need personal belongings for what awaited her or something equally sinister. Instead, he advised, “Be swift.”

Maybe he’s not as scary as he seems. And maybe Des Moines is a beach town.

Quickly, she grabbed her things, including all the prizes she’d won for puzzle-solving, and rushed back to him. “All set. So do you have your own ship? What about an awesome ragtag bunch of motley rogues to assist with your adventures?”

“My…adventures?”

“You’re a bounty hunter, right? That’s so cool. One of my favorite fictional characters is a bounty hunter, but he’s also kind of morally gray and sort of an ass. I have a soft spot for redeeming bad guys. I especially love the trope where they’re soft to the one person who’s unaccountably nice to them, and it really makes them gooey on the inside.”

“You speak a great deal of gibberish,” Krag said sternly.

Yara sighed. “You’ve probably never even heard of romance novels.”

“This way. My ship is docked on level three. Stay close, or I will—”

“Consider me hostile,” she finished. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. I won’t fight you, metal man. Instead, I’ll charm and amaze you with my verbal witticisms.”

“I don’t,” Krag said abruptly.

“Don’t what?”

“Have a crew. I travel alone, apart from WU-T2.”

“Please tell me that’s a tiny, adorable droid who gets sassy with you.” She pressed a hand to her heart and beamed in Krag’s direction, though he was moving too fast to notice. Like a Chihuahua trying to keep up with a Great Dane, she raced after him.

“How do you know about WU-T2?” Krag demanded.

“Oh damn,” Yara said. “I thought this day had gone utterly to shit, but now I realize that this is the start of an awesome quest. I’m so glad you found me, hero of my dreams!”

[  2  ]

KRAG’S QUARRY FOLLOWED OBEDIENTLY.

He might even say cheerfully, though he didn’t understand half of what Yara Duncan said. WU-T2 had the ship ready to travel when Krag boarded, Yara trotting behind him with her personal belongings clutched in front of her. He’d read her digital dossier; she was a rare sentient from a primitive planet, and she was remarkably defenseless. In fact, it was a miracle that she’d made it this far with no natural weapons, no survival gear. Her species must be resourceful and skilled with words. Belatedly Krag recalled the way she’d threatened to fascinate and enthrall him. Perhaps she had some subtle auditory ability that could compromise his faculties without violence? He would need to be cautious around her.

“Aren’t you going to spray me and trap me in _____?” The translator failed to offer a substitution for whatever she was asking.

Oddly, she did not at all seem like the sort of sentient who would oversee something like Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle. Rather, Yara Duncan radiated a rare sense of wonder, as if she found everything she beheld to be unexpectedly marvelous. Krag suspected it would be a long trip, even with her “enthusiastic compliance.”

“I cannot be certain of the nature of your inquiry, but I think you may be asking if I plan to restrain you. There is no need for that. The ship will respond only to me or WU-T2, so you may explore and choose a place to rest. In two sleep cycles, we will reach the Marjan Collective.”

Before she could ask anything else, WU-T2 raced forward, circled him, and then spoke using the special tech upgrade he’d installed. Normally this model communicated with lights and beeps, but Krag found that irritating over long periods. Since WU-T2 was his sole companion, the bot should be able to talk.

“Is this your target? Are we leaving now?” WU-T2 asked.

Krag answered, “Mission complete. Setting a course for the Marjan Collective.”

Yara folded to the floor and regarded the droid with what appeared to be consummate interest. Krag ignored the two of them in favor of leaving Vaadla Station before anything went wrong. It was exhausting to carry the weight of a daunting reputation everywhere he went. He headed to the controls, input the coordinates, and then turned navigation over to WU-T2. Though the bot was a free-roving unit, it was fully integrated with the ship.

“You’re adorable. You remind me of _____.” Another word that the translation matrix couldn’t process.

After scanning Yara Duncan, WU-T2 said, “You’re sixty-three percent water. Are you an aquatic lifeform? How do you breathe?”

“I breathe air with my lungs. They did something to me when I first got here, so my body adapts to atmospheric conditions. Before, I needed a lot more oxygen. The booster also keeps my bones from losing density and my muscles from atrophying. They’d probably call it gene therapy back home. And no, I’m not aquatic, though I do know how to swim. What about you?”

“I cannot function in a marine environment,” the droid said.

“No, introduce yourself!” Yara Duncan bent to touch the bot, following the pattern of lights with an inquisitive forelimb.

“I am WU-T2, companion unit to Toth Krag, twelfth—”

“Enough,” Krag cut in.

He had been correct about how dangerous Yara Duncan must be to survive the galaxy with no apparent weapons or resources. WU-T2 was programmed to be loyal, and the droid had almost given up his deepest secret in the first informational exchange. With grim necessity driving him, he loomed over her until she straightened and left the central hub. Her footfalls were light and quiet as she moved through the ship, but she seemed to be exploring, peering down each passageway more than looking for a place to hide from the threat he posed.

Doesn’t she care that I could eradicate her?

Clearly, that was not one of Yara Duncan’s concerns. In time, she deposited her personal articles in the smallest space—more of a storage unit—and rejoined him as if he had been waiting for her. Nothing about this mission had gone according to plan; sometimes, they resisted, shot at him, dropped ambushes, or bribed officials to obstruct him. And once he captured his quarry, they never sought out his company. Generally, they pleaded for their lives at first, sometimes so vociferously that WU-T2 had to sedate them. They cowered at the farthest remove possible, avoiding him like he might be prone to impulsive murder fits.

“What’s the plan?” Yara asked.

“You wait quietly. I ignore you until we reach our destination.”

“But you’re talking to me now. That means you already deviated from the plan. It would make more sense if you strayed more, and we went somewhere else, somewhere fun.”

Krag wished he could remove his armor, but he seldom received a break, and he wouldn’t be so fortunate again for a long while. He glared at her, which served no purpose, as she couldn’t discern his expression. Sheer frustration drew a snarl from him, rendered more threatening through his helmet with the added mechanical echo.

“Do you wish to be rendered inert for the remainder of the journey?” he demanded.

She didn’t react to the aggressive sound. “Not at all. But why would you do that anyway? You let me ask three questions before. If you weren’t open to talking to me, you shouldn’t have set that precedent.”

“Are all of your people so disruptive?” he asked, torn between amusement and exasperation.

More irritating, Krag couldn’t even refute her logic. Yara Duncan had warned him—yes, she had—that she would play these mind games. Yet, despite the declaration of her subversive intentions, he found her babble…charming. Just as she’d predicted. A moot point, as he wouldn’t change course, regardless of his private impressions. The guild didn’t pay him to have opinions.

“I haven’t met all of them. My home planet has billions of people, you know. But I suspect not, because my mother always said getting me to do anything I didn’t want to was like fighting an uphill battle.”

Krag wheeled around, stunned beyond all expression. And they name me a monster. “You did violence against your progenitor?”

“What? No. That’s not what I meant. Let me try again. My mother said it’s difficult to make me do anything I don’t want to.”

“Then obstinance is a personal trait.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Can I extrapolate that you wanted to leave Vaadla Station with me?” None of this made any sense to Krag. An unfamiliar feeling dawned like starlight over the rim of a darkened moon. He couldn’t predict this sentient’s behavior, and that troubled him.

“It’s not what I had planned when I woke up today, but since Volant’s left me behind…” She paused, seeming to consider her next statement. “More accurate to say, since they sacrificed me, I figured I should cooperate. Besides, I’ve always wanted to travel with a bounty hunter.”

“We are not traveling together. I’m delivering you to collect the reward.”

“That’s what you say now. Anyway, we’re on the same ship, going to the same place, so I’m technically correct. We are, in fact, traveling together, even if it’s temporary. And I have two sleep cycles to change your mind.”

“That will never happen,” he said sternly.

Yara Duncan ignored his rebuff, her unfathomable brain darting in a different direction entirely. “What do you look like under the helmet? Do you ever take it off? I bet it smells weird in there if you wear it all the time.”

Krag was speechless. No one had ever dared to pose such intrusive questions; they rarely spoke in his presence. Privately he admitted that the inside of the helmet did reek a little, redolent with scents absorbed from the prior eleven Toth Krags, not to mention his own unique head and mouth aroma. Yara Duncan didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she whirled and followed WU-T2 when the bot rolled out of the room. He heard them moving around the ship, chatting away, and he had the awful sense that he was losing hold of the situation.

Why doesn’t she fear me?

Such a response was foolhardy and incomprehensible. Just then, WU-T2 announced, “We’re cleared for departure. Station protocols engaged.”

That meant the station would be providing codes for them to disengage from the docking facility and exit Vaadla. Since this was usually a smooth process, he didn’t strap in. After the rumble of engines, something pinged. WU-T2 should check it. The ship vibrated and swooped away from the platform, glided a low speed out of the bay, then they accelerated away from the slow-spinning discs that made up the bulk of the station.

At this stage, he would normally retreat to his quarters and leave WU-T2 to surveil the prisoner while performing basic hygiene and eating in private. But he didn’t trust Yara Duncan not to perpetrate some secret trickery. She might even hack his companion droid. Instinct suggested she might be one of the wiliest opponents he’d ever faced.

I can’t risk it.

Better to keep the vigilance high than lose this payment as well. Already, he had been cheated because the syndicate refused to pay for his services when they’d negotiated with his previous target independently. If Krag were half as ruthless and dangerous as his reputation suggested, he would have ended both those Tiralan for wasting his time and costing him credits.

But that was a secret he’d keep until the end.

BEING CAUGHT BY A BOUNTY hunter should not be this boring.

Yara asked WU-T2 how long she had been aboard the ship, and the droid gave her a precise answer, as most bots did. The vessel was small and sleek, shaped like a starfish. There was a central area that included navigation—she thought—and then five passageways leading to different sections. None of the spaces were large, however. The two front compartments seemed to be habitats, but nothing that looked welcoming to a human, while the rear ones appeared to be technical, like engineering or maintenance. Admittedly, Yara might be drawing on science fiction movies for those identifications.

Everything was dark, gun-metal gray, and dinged up like more than one firefight had gone down inside this ship. The lighting was set in oblong pods that offered a milky radiance, still dim by human standards. And it was chilly. Not unbearably so, but it was hard as hell to pretend that she wasn’t scared. Hell, she couldn’t read the panels or the interfaces, so she kept asking WU-T2 what things did. Not that it helped, because when she touched a screen, nothing happened. The ship must be keyed to Krag’s biometrics.

They’d left Vaadla Station some time ago, and for a while, she watched the stars melt by through the viewscreen. It was a different sort of vantage than she got on the giant Volant ship. Never could she have imagined passing this close to a red giant. Experts would be so jealous, impressions they’d spent millions to achieve with the most powerful telescopes. And Yara Duncan, a big nobody from the wrong end of Des Moines, went to space for free.

Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Back in her time on Earth, she’d read plenty of conspiracies about aliens abducting cattle. As it turned out, aliens thought cows were delicious, and it truly was that simple. Sometimes they sampled a few cows to make sure they were clean and not diseased; that was why ranchers occasionally found dismembered carcasses and burn patterns in their fields. If anyone had told her that space pirates who rustled Earth cows were real, she’d have laughed until she cried.

Reality is weird.

With a sigh, she realized that she even missed Farfi the Incredible Annelid. The things that worm could do to itself…nah, best not to linger on that topic. Aboard the Elder Queen, she could walk for days and not see everything. It was the equivalent of a luxury cruise ship on Earth with multiple restaurants, pools, and a spa, along with shops and bars and a theatre. Traveling like that was wild, and they always had patrons who wanted to live the circus life for a while, but sometimes the troupe ran out of funds, and they docked to save up for fuel.

She should probably be mad at Tu-san and Doktro, the pair who owned and managed Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle, considering they’d landed her in this position. But she couldn’t muster any wrath when she considered what an adventure it had been. Such an easy gig, way more wholesome than doing weird stuff on live stream back home. Yara had done a brief stint as a cam artist, but she didn’t enjoy a lot of the requests. If only they’d stopped at asking her to eat a bunch of ramen, but no.

Back and forth, she paced through the starfish ship, but this one was clearly built for function, not entertainment. There was literally nothing to do except sit on the floor and wait for something terrible to happen. Cold and hungry as she was, she’d never be able to sleep.

Isn’t there a food dispenser onboard? Is Krag a bot too? Maybe he doesn’t eat.

Eventually, she noticed that the bounty hunter seemed to be keeping an eye on her, staying several paces away but always watching. Yara figured she might as well hang out with him, and she paused in her meanderings. It just so happened to be one of the small living areas. Krag recoiled when she popped into sight with her hands outstretched, just like a person would who was about to start a tickle fight—Krag recoiled.

What does he think I’ll do to him exactly? So skittish.

Yara folded her arms. “What gives? Are you worried I’ll hijack your ship?”

“My security protocols are excellent,” he snapped.

“Then what’s with stalking me? You said I’m allowed to look around.”

“You make me nervous,” Krag said.

“I do?”

At any rate, that answered the question of whether Krag was a bot. To her knowledge, droids didn’t get anxious. More to the point, why did she unnerve a fearsome bounty hunter? A few aliens found the human smile disturbing and/or aggressive, so she’d learned to mitigate some of her facial expressions.

“You flutter.”

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?” she suggested.

The long pause made her suspect the translator must’ve fritzed again, then Krag said, “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not!”

Krag made that sound, the one that crawled into her bones, and made her shiver from head to toe. “You said you would inject me with venom.”

Damn, it’s a little hot when he’s serious.

A sigh escaped her; he would probably think she was deflating or something. “What I’m hearing is that I should never joke with you again.”

“That was an attempt to be humorous? I find your species baffling.”

Intrigued, she asked, “Have you met many humans?”

“Is that the name of your species? It wasn’t reported in the dossier.”

“Yep, we call ourselves that. I’m from Earth. Ever heard of it?”

“I have the coordinates. There are several primitive species currently engaged in a war for dominance. Is that correct?”

“Humans were pretty much in charge when I left, but I’ve been gone for a while. I can’t swear that things haven’t taken a Planet of the Apes turn in the meantime.”

“More gibberish.” Krag sounded annoyed, even through the helmet.

“Sorry about that. Is there a dispenser, or did you plan to starve me until I’m delivered for the reward?” Part of her wanted to ask what the Marjan Collective would do to her; the other half figured it was better not knowing.

“Over here. I’ll unlock it so you can access whatever you prefer.”

“Thanks, but I can’t read Galactic Basic too well. The symbols mean nothing to me, so you’ll need to program something I can eat, then show me what icon to use. Sorry for the bother.” Times like this Yara got angry that she wasn’t learning faster.

Ever since she got snatched, she had been studying the symbols, and she could remember some of them, but not enough to take care of herself. Not by a long shot. And that was frustrating as hell. She waited for Krag to say something mean, but instead, he did as she’d requested.

“I used the dossier provided to configure adequate nutrition. If the format doesn’t suit your palate—”

“Doesn’t matter,” she cut in. “Because I won’t be eating it for very long.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“No,” Krag said, as the dispenser provided a gelatinous cube with a little plop.

The square was wobbly gray with red and purple veins. When she held it to the light, she decided it looked like a particularly weird alien eyeball. Yara had eaten odder things since she and the Hansen cows went to space. Most likely, they were food by now. If the space pirates had asked her, she would have given them some tips on breeding those suckers. That way, they could start their own space ranch and stop making raids on Earth. She guessed criminals were the same all over, though. Why would they bother doing that when they could just rustle them? The cube tasted like bad parmesan cheese and sour grape juice. Her mouth puckered, but she got it down.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said.

“Why are you thanking me? This was necessary, not an extension of hospitality.”

“You know, the more you insist that you’re mean and terrible, the more I think you’re all bark and no bite. Sure, sure, you didn’t intend to be nice to me. It just happened.” She grinned without worrying about how Krag might perceive it.

“What are you implying?” The bounty hunter widened his stance like she was pissing him off.

“I got your number, Dread Pirate Roberts, and you’ll most likely kill me in the morning.” She winked at him, knowing the translator probably wouldn’t be able to make any sense of that reference, but entertaining herself would have to do.

“What number are you referencing?” Now Krag sounded alarmed like he honestly had a numerical secret.

Maybe I can use this.

Quickly, she thought back, and the only thing she could recall was WU-T2 saying something about the twelfth, but that could mean damn near anything.

Yara played it cool like she wasn’t talking out her ass. “Twelve,” she said sweetly. “Bet you feel like negotiating now, don’t you, metal man?”

[  3  ]

KRAG IMMEDIATELY GRASPED THAT HE’D underestimated his target.

He didn’t think it was possible for her to infiltrate his ship’s data storage, and yet he had no explanation for how Yara Duncan had already obtained sensitive information. Fortunately, the armor concealed any physiological response, allowing him to feign ignorance.

“No negotiation. I will deliver you to the Marjan Collective as scheduled.”

The human muttered a word that the translator couldn’t handle. Given the situation, Krag suspected it must be a curse. He also deduced that the less time he spent with the quarry, the better off he’d be. Normally, captives cowered in some corner of the ship, wallowing in terror, and they didn’t communicate with him voluntarily. This time, however, when he moved away, she followed him, to the point that it started to feel like she was hunting him all over the ship. She didn’t speak, simply shadowed him with baffling fidelity.

It was…incredibly frustrating.

He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t do something to the locking mechanism on his private quarters, which meant he couldn’t remove the armor as he ordinarily did. No rest, no food, or hygiene. Sometimes he loathed his life so much that his self-hate could become a toxin strong enough to kill on contact. Not that he’d touched anyone in longer than he could recall. None could be permitted to see the face of the fearsome Toth Krag.

Finally, she said, “What are you doing?”

Yara Duncan must know that he was trying to get away from her. Acknowledging that would be the same as admitting that she perplexed him, and it might give her the upper hand.

“That is none of your concern,” he said flatly.

“It seems like you’re wandering aimlessly. If you’re bored, we could play a game.”

That sounded like a trap. “This harmless game will involve a series of wagers. You’ll allow me to win until I grow confident, then you’ll ask me to stake your release, and you’ll mysteriously gain skill, defeating me for the first time, and I will be honor bound to release you. Is that how you intend for events to unfold?”

“Is he always like this?” She directed the question at WU-T2, who had apparently completed the maintenance check and returned to observe silently.

“Negative. Your behavior defies all normal parameters. Your current fear index is low. I detect no adrenaline spikes, and your respiration and heart rate are normal.”

“I’m the one who’s acting weird?” Yara inquired.

“Affirmative.”

She made an inexplicable sound, showing bone spurs. “It was a yes-or-no question, Krag. I don’t have any plans to _____ you.”

“Your statement didn’t translate correctly. Was that a threat?”

“Definitely not. Let me try again. I have no intention of cheating you. I just thought we could entertain each other and pass the time. You said it would be a while before we arrive at the Marjan Collective. There’s no reason for me to hide and whimper the whole time if my situation can’t be changed. I’ll figure out my next move once we get there.”

Yara Duncan might be the most relaxed being Krag had ever encountered. Surely, this must be a pretense. Otherwise, he didn’t see how a sentient being could remain so calm under the circumstances. But when he thought back, hadn’t he done much the same when his parents told him he was being bartered to the guild to cover their debts? There was a certain value in grasping what circumstances couldn’t be changed.

Why had such an otherwise sensible being borrowed so much from the Collective? That wasn’t in character at all, considering what he’d witnessed thus far. She had surrendered immediately to prevent harm befalling the rest of her troupe, and they had repaid her loyalty by abandoning her at the first opportunity. That was consistent with what Krag had seen in the wider galaxy since he donned the armor. Loyalty was a rare trait, one that generally wasn’t rewarded with like treatment.

Such speculation would do neither one of them any good. It didn’t matter if the contract on her made sense, and it would undermine his resolve to turn her over if he spent time with her. Perhaps that was her strategy.

“It was a kindness not to confine you,” he said. “If you test me again, I’ll—”

“Consider me hostile?”

It was downright unnerving the way she interrupted him as if she had no fear at all. Normally, the sight of his battle-scarred armor and deadly weapons did the job without needing a lot of verbal input from Krag. She ought to be evacuating her waste systems at the prospect of angering him.

Humans are strange.

She let out an airy sound. “I’ll entertain myself. Am I allowed to play with WU-T2?”

That was alarming in another respect because the bot lit up and twinkled from head to toe, then said, “Yes! I prefer games of strategy,” as an extensor popped from the top of the droid and rotated as the little mech followed Yara Duncan without question.

That felt rather like a betrayal as if she’d stolen his only friend. Certainly, WU-T2 had never required a loyalty protocol because targets didn’t have the presence of mind to ponder strategy once he got them on the ship. Sometimes they were so hysterical that he had to induce calm chemically, feeding them tranquilizers until their delivery.

Probably he should be relieved that she’d stopped trailing him around, but he couldn’t relinquish the idea that this was all part of some larger scheme. While she didn’t necessarily seem that clever, too many aspects of Yara Duncan didn’t add up to a logical profile. He hesitated, torn between letting WU-T2 deal with her for the duration and fearing that relaxing his vigilance might have disastrous consequences.

All told, he had a bad feeling about this contract, as if he’d earned some complications by hesitating over his last one. I shouldn’t have let those two Tiralan go. Eventually, he decided it would be bizarre to follow her around the ship; she wasn’t craftier than all his other quarry combined. She just had a different sort of personality. In the end, Krag trusted in his security measures and went to his quarters for some much-needed privacy. He coded the door against intrusions and even blocked WU-T2 on the permission list on the off-chance that Yara Duncan managed to get around the droid.

At last, he activated the EXIT protocol, and hydraulics whirred as he escaped from his metal prison. The air felt cool and strange on his skin, and despite the chemical cleansing agents circulating in the air recyclers, he smelled himself. Revolting. The inside of his suit needed to be fumigated, and normally, he’d assign WU-T2 to the task.

Vaguely out of sorts, he cleaned himself thoroughly and then manually decontaminated his armor, inside and out. Afterward, he acquired a meal from the dispenser and snatched some rest. Unease plagued him even in the unconscious state, and eventually, he roused, irritated beyond all reason. Krag armored up and went to check on what Yara was doing to his bot.

He found the two of them in the main hub, still playing some multilevel strategy game that Krag hadn’t even known WU-T2 enjoyed. It irked him even more that Yara Duncan had discovered something new about his companion.

Why didn’t WU-T2 tell me he likes to play?

In silence, he watched the next four moves and then the droid spun in a circle. “My match! You cannot defeat me, Yara Duncan. My strategic abilities are unparalleled.”

“You’re a genius, WU-T2. Thank you for teaching me how to play Risk. But you can just call me Yara. When you use my full name, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“A cultural idiosyncrasy?” WU-T2 asked.

“I guess you could say that. Where I’m from, our parents call out our full names when we’ve done something wrong. It would only be worse if you were using my second name too.”

“How many names are required in your world?”

That was a good question. Krag would never ask, but he knew relatively little about her homeworld, too primitive to have a complete dossier in the guild database. He remembered her anxious assertion: I’ve never received any credits. I don’t even have official status in the Coalition, so I can’t apply for a loan. The uncomfortable feeling intensified, coupled with reluctant fascination.

“It depends, but where I’m from, you get a first name, a middle name, and a last name. Your first name is usually one that your parents liked for whatever reason—like maybe the meaning or whatever—the second name often is in honor of a relative, and the last name identifies your familial affiliation.”

“Understood,” said W2-TU.

If Krag wanted to know more, he’d have to ask personally.

“WHAT’S YOUR SECOND NAME?”

Yara jumped. She hadn’t even known that Krag was nearby, and it was all kinds of wrong that he could move quietly even in that suit. Does he have a stealth protocol or what?

It was strange that he cared about her middle name, but if there was some chance there was a mix-up, she should take every chance to clear things up.

“It’s Nova,” she said. “Yara Nova Duncan. Really not sure what my mom was going for with that, but it’s not like I can ask her.”

Even before Yara’s accidental abduction, the woman had vanished when Yara was fifteen. Hell, maybe aliens snatched her too.

Wouldn’t it be wild to run into Mom out here? I could stop hating her if that’s why she vanished.

“Record appended,” said Krag.

“You were just adding the info to my file?” A flare of disappointment tightened her chest.

“Correct.”

It was fucking hard acting like she wasn’t at all worried about what would happen next. But Yara knew enough about the Marjan Collective to understand what would occur after delivery. They had a certain reputation, and—

Fuck, I don’t want to end up as spare parts. What would aliens even do with human components? Maybe eat my liver with some fava beans and a fine chianti.

Somehow, she kept her panic from showing. She’d always been better than average at hiding how she felt, and she had the gift of gab as well. After her mom disappeared, a quick mind and a smooth tongue kept her from being sucked into the system. Unfortunately, it couldn’t save her from being abducted by aliens or grabbed by a bounty hunter for shit she didn’t do. She had a relatively short time to make Krag care about her fate. And maybe it couldn’t be done, but she had to try.

“Tell me about yourself,” she invited.

“There’s no need for us to interact,” Krag said coldly. “Go about your business. I’ll inform you shortly before arrival.”

The bounty hunter turned and was already stomping away when Yara said, “You don’t get lonely rolling around the galaxy with only WU-T2 for company?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“And that’s not a denial, so I’m taking it as confirmation. If you don’t want to tell me your story, I’ll tell you mine.”

It was a gamble because if Krag got pissed, he might choose to zap her and keep her sedated until delivery time. But Krag had done several things that didn’t track with his bloodthirsty reputation, including issuing multiple warnings at Volant’s, like he was actively trying to avoid violence. Yara had dodged many crappy situations by following her instincts, and intuition told her that Krag wasn’t as icy as he pretended.

“Why?” he asked without turning. “Is it to try and become more of a person in my eyes? Because such manipulations won’t work, Yara Duncan. I know that you’re a sentient being, but I still have a job to do.”

Shit. He saw right through me.

She infused a touch of pathos into her voice. “Fair enough. But that’s not the whole point. Maybe I want someone to remember me when I’m gone. It’s not like I’m asking for the moon here. You can listen and remember, right?”

There was a long silence, and she feared she had overplayed her hand. He muttered something that sounded like, I’d rather leave you on a moon. But then, with a reverberating curse, Krag wheeled. “Speak. I’ll hear your sad story.”

“You assume it’s sad?” she asked.

“Am I wrong?”

“Nope.” She popped the p at the end of the word, wishing she could see Krag’s face, though since he was likely an alien, it probably wouldn’t help her gauge his emotional state. “But something tells me that you have a sad story too.”

“Most beings do,” he said, surprising her.

Is this working? Am I reaching him?

“I’ll listen if you want,” she offered.

“You’re so kind.”

Yara detected the mocking edge to Krag’s words, persuading her that she’d get nowhere pushing him to expose his own secrets. The suit might as well be a metaphor for his psyche, and she’d only get inside of it if he chose to step out of the armor. Better to go with her original plan of trying to arouse his sympathies.

“My dad died when I was little,” she said. “I was eight. Not sure how much of this will translate, but that’s young to lose a parent. I hardly remember him.”

“I was parted from my progenitors early as well,” Krag said.

But he didn’t seem to be trying to make her feel bad, merely stating a fact. Of course, he might be crying inside the suit for all she knew. She could only see the scarred metal shell and hear his inhumanly deep voice filled with electronic feedback.

“Then you know it sucks. After that, it was just my mom and me. But she vanished when I was fifteen. No idea where she went or what became of her.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the markers of maturity for your species, but it seems as if your other progenitor left you to fend for yourself before you were ready?”

Yara smiled despite herself. “That’s an accurate assessment. The worst part is, I don’t know if she abandoned me because she was sick of doing all the heavy lifting of raising a kid or because something bad happened.”

“You fear someone did violence to her? Is that a customary fear in your world?”

The question sounded curious rather than judgmental, and much as she didn’t want to talk about Earth, she answered the question. “Honestly, humans are terrible at resource management, and the planet was pretty fucked up when I was snatched. Poor people get desperate and do bad things. Rich people act shitty because they can. Point being, people do hurt one another, sometimes for no reason at all.”

“I suspect that was a mistranslation,” Krag said.

“What?”

“That the wealthy engage with fecal matter.”

Yara laughed. “Not exactly what I meant. Did you get the last part?”

“Affirmative. You suspect that it is possible your progenitor didn’t return because she couldn’t,” Krag said. “Because someone harmed her.”

“Yeah. And I did so much crazy shit to keep from going into the system. You have no idea how many lies I told.”

She’d dodged social workers and couch surfed and crashed at various friends’ houses until she couldn’t come up with any excuse as to why she couldn’t go home. Which had been because the trailer she’d stayed in with her mom had been rented the first time she’d failed to make rent. If it hadn’t been for her friend Lucy’s mom, who finally said she could stay until graduation, Yara would’ve ended up dropping out of high school. The one regret she had about this whole abduction scenario was that Lucy must be wondering where the hell she was.

I miss her.

“It sounds as if life on your homeworld is difficult and undesirable.”

“If you’re broke, it’s like that everywhere,” Yara told him.

“Damaged?”

“Poor,” she corrected, guessing that the slang didn’t translate.

Krag paused, and she could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “That…is true,” he said finally.

Common ground.

Maybe financial problems kept him working as a bounty hunter long after the magic wore off. Despite the glamorization of Boba Fett, this job probably sucked as much as any other after a while.

I might be able to use that…

“Anyway, things did not get easier after aliens snatched me out of that field. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Yes, back to your miserable earthbound existence,” Krag said, sounding amused.

Yara glared and then remembered she was supposed to be eliciting softer feelings from him. Damn, it was hard to work someone when she was operating fully on instinct, with no visual cues to guide her.

“You’re making fun of me, but I asked for it. I didn’t have many friends growing up, and I burned through them quickly, asking for favors. Their parents saw me as the problem kid, someone who always had a hand out. By the end of high school, I only had Lucy left.”

“A true friend?”

Yara nodded. “Her folks were genuinely good to me, and I wish I could’ve stayed longer, but I promised myself I wouldn’t take advantage of their kindness if I could hang on long enough to get my diploma.”

“That’s a credential of some sort?”

“Precisely, an educational milestone. So there I was, all of eighteen, and off I went to face the world on my own. I moved from a small town in Iowa to Des Moines because I thought I’d have a better shot at getting a job there.”

“Did you find employment?”

Oh wow, he’s asking questions. That indicated a higher level of engagement.

“I did. Shitty work at a seedy bar, and I ended up moving in with a bunch of strangers who stole my food even though I wrote my name on it, just like the rules required. Things went on like that for a few years. Lucy went to college, and we lost touch for a while. That…”

Frankly, it had broken Yara’s heart and left her rootless.

“It must have hurt,” Krag supplied. “You felt as if you had lost your only friend.”

She stared up at the bounty hunter, stunned by Krag’s perspicacity.

[  4  ]

YARA DUNCAN HAD A LOT of words, but Krag surmised that she’d lost her command of them.

Truly, she was an odd-looking creature with no natural defenses and eyes that screamed vulnerability as she gaped up at him. This was the longest conversation he’d ever had with one of his targets, and part of him admired her persistence, even as it inconvenienced him.

She rallied swiftly, continuing with her tale of woe. “I was saving for my own place when Lucy came home for a visit. She was sorry we’d stopped talking and invited me to watch a meteor shower.”

On some level, Krag couldn’t believe that she had more to tell. He’d imagined she would lose motivation when he gave her so little encouragement, but she was a veritable star cluster of sheer determination. Reluctantly impressed, he scanned her, trying to get a lock on human readings. Her pulse was racing, higher than it had been, but he could draw no conclusions from the raw data.

Oblivious, Yara went on, “I was so happy that she didn’t forget me. And when we got together, it was just like old times. We hiked out to the fields, but she forgot the food. She said she’d be back in _______, but while she was gone, everything changed.”

“Is that when you were taken?” he asked.

She tilted her head forward, and he concluded it might be an affirmative gesture in her species. “Sucked right into the sky by a beam of light, along with Lucy’s herd animals.”

“You must have been frightened.”

As much as I was when they took me from my homeworld and dumped me in the hunter training facility.

He suspected this was what she hoped for in relaying so much personal information. To make me care. Yara Duncan was smart enough to know that she had no hope of besting him in combat. Therefore, she chose to fight on another battlefield, an emotional one. But even if he sympathized, he couldn’t save her.

“It was terrifying,” she admitted. “But it was worse when they abandoned me on a random station. I had no credits. No skills. I couldn’t read the signs or even speak to anyone. In those early days, I almost starved to death. For a while, I lived as a Barathi’s pet, and if Volant’s hadn’t taken me in, I don’t know what would have become of me.”

“They saved your life.”

Only to abandon her later. That was a cruel sort of kindness. As for Krag, he would rather have the brutality up front in place of pretense.

“That’s why I didn’t try to avoid capture,” she said then. “I was repaying my debt to them. And while I never took out a loan from the Marjan Collective, I know Tu-san and Doktro. They wouldn’t have done this to me if the situation wasn’t desperate.”

“Your kindness will be your undoing,” he snapped, vaguely wondering why he cared about a creature so soft and defenseless.

“Will it?” She showed him bony oral splinters in an adorable display of aggression. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”

A flicker of unease flowed through him. “Elaborate. Now.”

“You didn’t lock me up. Didn’t limit my access on the ship or to WU-T2. Probably because I’m small, weak, and I’m from a primitive planet. You don’t see me as a threat, right?”

Silently Krag swore. He had such a bad feeling.

“Yara Duncan. Don’t waste my time with vague allusions. Speak clearly.”

“All in due time. You left me unsupervised with WU-T2. Didn’t you worry at all about what he might tell me?”

No. Horror rocked through him, along with the creeping sense of vulnerability. Even his armor couldn’t protect him from this tiny, dangerous human.

“It seems you think you’ve acquired knowledge that might harm me,” he managed to say.

Thankfully, the vocalizer unit changed his natural tone to some degree, and in that camouflage, also hid some of the distress.

“You’re the twelfth Toth Krag. And according to WU-T2, the least violent and combative of those who’ve worn the suit. You don’t particularly enjoy the work, and you’re often melancholy. The droid also told me—”

“Enough,” he cut in. I’m putting a loyalty lock on that bot as soon as we’re done talking. But that might well be too little too late. “What can you do with that information? We’re arriving at the Marjan Collective shortly, and—”

“I don’t think so.”

“You dare?” he roared.

Unbelievably, she took a step forward, apparently fearless, even while facing his wrath. “This is my life! If you turn me over, I get sliced up for parts. For something I didn’t even do! Since I owe Volant’s my life, I’ll pay their debt, but on my terms. I just need some time.”

Krag didn’t want to do this, but she’d left him no choice. He raised his weapon. “This changes nothing. The contract terms are ‘dead or alive.’ You won’t have the chance to expose my secrets.”

“I used WU-T2 to schedule a message. If you kill me, it will be beamed wide, and you’ll be useless to the guild. How do you think your employers will feel about you leaking one of their deepest secrets?”

Stunned, he lowered the laser emitter, training it on the floor instead. Then he shouted, “WU-T2! Where are you?”

The droid whirred in, flashing lights and showing all the usual functions. “How can I assist, Toth Krag?”

“Did you schedule a message for the target? Cancel it immediately!”

After a pause, the bot said, “Regrets, but the message has been manually locked with a numerical code known only to Yara Duncan.”

“How could you tell her? And why did you let her access the comm systems?” he demanded, furious and stunned.

“Checking data logs. I have not been advised that such actions were forbidden. Do you wish to update security protocols?”

Krag restrained the urge to launch the droid into the side of the ship with a ferocious kick. All that would achieve was breaking his maintenance droid, and then he’d have to do all the work himself. Really, he was the one to blame; he’d had an amorphous sense that Yara Duncan was more dangerous than she let on, and now he had confirmation.

“There’s no point,” he said tiredly. “The worst has already happened.”

“No, the worst would be you delivering me to be murdered for a crime I didn’t commit.” She folded her forelimbs, not backing down from her bold declaration.

Krag turned, aggravated beyond all reason. Never had one of his targets enraged him so, and he couldn’t harm her. He had to get her to delete that message.

“Why did you bother trying to soften me up with your sad tale?” he demanded. “What was the point of wasting so much time?”

She startled him with her reply. “Because I want you to know who I am. I’m not a troublemaker. Mostly, I’m known for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if we’re going to stick together, you should understand where I’ve come from.”

For the first time in longer than he could recall, Krag was speechless. Finally, he got out, “Why would we be together? Your behavior defies all logic. First, you extort me, and now…you’re recruiting me? What madness is this?”

“This makes sense! We both have issues that stem from lack of credits. WU-T2 told me that you’re basically an indentured servant, and you have zero control over the jobs you accept. That must piss you off. So let’s work together. You know I’m not a bad person, and I’ve just proven that I’m more resourceful than I seem. I can be your partner!”

Krag couldn’t believe he was even asking, “In what?”

“Technically, it would be crime. We need to get our hands on a lot of credits, quick. So I can pay off the loan Tu-san and Doktro took out in my name. That will get the Marjan Collective off my back. You can use your cut to pay off the bounty hunter guild, and then you can do whatever you want with your life. Don’t you want to be free, Krag? Can you imagine it?”

“Not even slightly,” he said.

But…she was correct about one thing. He hated his life. He loathed the lack of freedom. Maybe she’d done something to him because…he might be considering it. If this little human could get the best of him, using only a maintenance droid as an asset, she must be much craftier than she looked. This one wouldn’t get caught and killed trying to save him.

“We don’t have much time. Soon we’ll be within hailing distance of the Marjan Collective. Once they spot your ship, it’s game over for both of us. Make the right call. Please.”

NORMALLY, YARA WASN’T A GAMBLER.

This whole play was way riskier and more rushed than any scam she’d tried on Earth. Truthfully, she was a two-bit hustler back then. Oh, she’d held down the crappy server job, just like she told Krag, but she’d specialized in getting big tips from appealing to people’s sympathies, persuading them to help her. Poor little orphan girl, making her way in the world all alone. It was useful to get money from people by sticking to the facts, and if some part of her was damn tired of being an object of sympathy, it was better than the alternative, like getting kicked out of her apartment or not eating for a week.

She’d learned that aliens didn’t get motivated by the same things as humans, but there was some overlap. Enough for her to ply her trade.

Finally, Krag seemed to decide. “Plot a new course,” he told WU-T2. “Find us somewhere to hide, the nearest smuggler’s outpost.”

“Yes!” Yara punched the air in celebration, noticing belatedly that Krag still seemed pissed. “Partners! You won’t regret this.”

“I already regret this,” Krag snapped. “I regret not restraining you. I regret not tranqing you. I regret leaving you alone with my droid.”

“I enjoyed it!” said WU-T2.

“That’s a lot of regrets.” She needed to get back on his good side and fast. Even if he was the least violent person to wear this armor, he could still blot her out of existence without breaking a sweat. Assuming he sweated.

“I am aware,” Krag said coldly.

What the hell does he look like under there anyway?

Choosing to stress the positive aspects of their alliance, she added, “Focus on paying for your freedom, never doing anything on anyone else’s orders ever again.”

“That…would be a miracle.” Apparently, he craved liberty because he sounded wistful, if not hopeful, longing for it but not convinced it could happen.

“It’s within reach,” she assured him. “We just need to put together a crew. Naturally, I’m the smooth-talking roguish mastermind, and you can be the muscle. According to all the heist movies I’ve watched—in the absence of having a life because that’s freakin’ expensive—we need two or three more players to pull this off.”

The key to making this partnership work was persuading him that she knew what she was doing. Fake it ’til you make it, right? There’s no proof that I’m not a criminal mastermind. It wasn’t like he could call Earth and get references. Exactly how many successful heists has Yara Duncan planned? I see, I see. And how would you rate her performance? She grinned, just imagining this fictional convo.

Unfortunately, Krag didn’t share her amusement. “I understood virtually none of your babbling. Why is your language so messy?”

Sighing, Yara tried again. “We need to assemble a team. Did you get that much?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can work on the rest. And maybe my language is fine, it’s your translation matrix that needs work,” she told him.

Krag made a sound she’d never heard before, but with the voice-altering software or whatever she used, she couldn’t tell what emotion motivated it. Probably frustration or exasperation if she had to guess. Better not to ask.

She continued after barely taking a breath. “Anyway, you could probably take that suit off at any point. It makes you memorable and identifiable. Hell, even the guild might not recognize you if you sold it. How much do you think we’d get for it?”

“I am not selling my combat armor!” Krag thundered.

“Damn, it was just an idea.” She still thought it would be smart, even if it pissed him off.

He exhaled audibly, sounding even more like Vader. A sexy Vader. Wonder if he can do it with the helmet on? “You tiny nightmare, I do not wish to see or hear from you until we dock at Erebus Station.”

Yara planted her hands on her hips, wishing she had bigger hair so she’d seem taller. “How are we supposed to plan the heist if you won’t talk to me?”

“You think it will be that easy? Most likely, we’ll both die,” Krag snapped. “You have the Marjan Collective hunting you, and soon enough, the full might of the guild will be after us as well. You left me with no good choices, Yara Duncan, and I need some time to process the fact that my life as I knew it is over.”

“Fine, if you have to be dramatic about it,” she muttered.

When he put it like that, she felt slightly bad. But not bad enough to stop extorting him and let him turn the ship around. She sighed, watching the furious bounty hunter stomp away.

For a hot minute, she’d thought they were connecting, but that was a stupid-as-shit conclusion from someone she was forcing to cooperate with her. This plan was half-baked at best, and she fully understood why he was furious with her. But at the same time, Krag ought to understand that she couldn’t passively wait to be destroyed.

WU-T2 spun in a circle, apparently unfazed by Krag’s angry departure. “Do you want another match, Yara?”

“Sure, why not?”

She passed the time with the bot, wondering how Krag had coped, spending his life on the move, constantly hunting, with only the droid to keep him company. Not that WU-T2 was a poor traveling mate.

She’d heard Krag set a course for Erebus Station, and while she knew of the place, it hadn’t been on the itinerary for Volant’s, so she’d never been there. But WU-T2 specialized in collecting data, and Krag had been too pissed to lock the bot down when he stormed off.

Might as well take advantage.

“What do you know about Erebus Station?” she asked the droid.

“It is a known criminal outpost with representatives from more than forty unlawful enterprises. Do you wish me to analyze the current trends in power and predict who is most likely to take precedence? There will probably be some conflict over proprietary rights in the next half cycle.”

Parsing that, it sounded like a gang war was brewing on Erebus Station, but hopefully, they could recruit some key personnel and keep moving because, with the heat on both Krag and Yara, they couldn’t afford to stick around.

Eventually, she shook her head. “No need to get that technical. I was curious what kind of place it is, that’s all.”

“I can display a three-dimensional holo providing information on various levels and facilities if you wish.”

“That’s fine.” Yara duly admired the map and praised the droid for possessing so much awesome info, and then they returned to their game.

Yara played her best against WU-T2—lost again—and then went in search of Toth Krag, who was holed up in his quarters, presumably still stewing about how she’d ruined his life.

A quote from one of her favorite science fiction movies popped into her head. And she said it aloud, “You made three mistakes. First, you took the job” in a gruff, scary voice.

“What were my other two mistakes?” Krag asked, surprising her.

Yara blinked at the bounty hunter looming over her like he was struggling with the urge to vaporize her. Yara hadn’t expected him to emerge from his brooding, let alone respond to her rambling. Seriously, does this dude never take his armor off? She got that there probably had been a rule about it with the guild, but now that he’d decided to break away, it made zero sense for him to wear the suit constantly. Not that she planned to provoke him further, as she sensed that questions about his reliance on the armor would do.

“Uh. Second, you came light. A one-man crew for me? Fucking insulting.”

He wouldn’t get the joke, but Yara chuckled over the idea that one bounty hunter wouldn’t be enough to capture her. It wasn’t like she was Richard B. Riddick, and she hated the idea of anyone getting hurt. Like me. Especially me.

“Your criticism is noted. I should, indeed, have limited your access to my ship, systems, and droid, or hired more personnel to keep an eye on you. The third mistake?”

Yara hadn’t planned on critiquing his performance, but since she had one foot on stage, she might as well dance. “You underestimated me,” she told him honestly. “You assumed I wasn’t a threat because I’m not physically imposing, because my homeworld is known to be primitive by Coalition standards. Therefore, it never occurred to you that someone so enthusiastically compliant could manage to get leverage.”

“Understand this,” Krag said. “I learn from my mistakes. We may be in collusion for convenience, but I won’t turn my back on you again.”

“That’s cool. I’m tired of looking at people’s backs anyway. I’d rather check out your front. All of you, full monty, if you’re into that. Some aliens have hinted that they wouldn’t mind taking me for a spin, but so far, I haven’t paddled in xenosex waters. But if you intend to be my first, you have to show me what you’re working with.”

“What?” Krag sounded so shocked.

It only egged her on, and Yara offered her best roguish grin. “What do you say? Want to show me what’s under your armor?”

[  5  ]

TOTH KRAG HAD NEVER BEEN so bewildered.

At least, not since before he was sold to the guild. Since then, his life had conformed to certain patterns, and he didn’t expect things like freedom or happiness. Until Yara Duncan detonated what should have been a routine capture.

Is she making a sexual overture? She has no idea who I am or what I look like.

Though possibly the mystery increased her attraction, as had occasionally been the case. Like any bounty hunter, he had pursuers drawn to the air of danger or intrigued by what the armor might conceal. That interest only lasted until they figured out exactly who he was, and then the screaming and running began.

“I do not,” he said sternly.

In truth, it would feel like removing the heaviest burden of his life, but he didn’t dare discard the suit when he’d just gone rogue. Soon he would be hunted by former peers as dangerous, well-armed, and heavily armored as him. Krag couldn’t be sure how long it would take for the guild to figure out that he’d defected, but they might attempt to take control of the suit remotely. I need to rework the security protocols before that happens.

But doing that would require taking off the suit, and he might need WU-T2’s help to crack the protective code as fast as he needed it done. Before he risked even letting the maintenance droid see him, he should add some loyalty protocols and limit what requests Yara could make. Lesson learned. After that, physical alteration should offer—

“Your courting needs work,” Yara said.

She cannot possibly have meant that as it sounds.

“Clarify.” It was impossible to be ferocious with her or even curt because she often left him feeling utterly unmoored.

Did humans have some special psychic weapon aimed at befuddlement? Suffering such a constant state of mental confusion could not be coincidental. But he couldn’t see the endgame for such an ability that created continual bafflement because she seemed to have no intent at ambushing him. Krag scanned her from head to toe, just in case, the data regarding her physiological makeup and biological functions scrolling across the inside of his helmet.

It displayed data related to her normal requirements, along with the updated parameters after the treatment she’d received. Her species normally requires a great deal of oxygen. Without respiratory modification, her species couldn’t breathe in most environments. The standard chemical mix on most Coalition stations had less oxygen and a great deal more carbon dioxide, xenon, and argon. Based on what he’d learned about her bizarre physiology, humans were not particularly hardy or adaptive. He studied her heart rate and wondered what the normal baseline was. Suddenly, he realized he had been derailed from his original purpose by a single statement.

Diabolical.

Finally, she said, “I was joking. Do jokes never translate?”

It was a good thing he hadn’t decided to make an enemy of Yara Duncan. He had no doubt that she’d have broadcast his greatest secret without hesitation. Now, all her collective cunning would be turned on the bounty hunter guild instead. That…was a good feeling. It had been such a long time since there had been anyone other than WU-T2 at his back.

“Humor is difficult and subjective.”

“You got that right. Anyway, just so you know, I wasn’t seriously trying to seduce you. If I was, I wouldn’t do it by ____ you.”

“Translation failure,” he said. “I only understood part of that.”

She made a sound that the translation matrix reacted badly to, utterly an unusual tone. Krag took that to mean it was a curse. Then Yara said, “I wouldn’t try to get close to you by making you feel bad about yourself. There’s a technique back home that teaches people to partner up by breaking down someone else’s confidence.”

Krag stared. That sounded like the mental torture and brainwashing techniques favored by the guild to weaken the will of hunters in training who refused to comply with their new fate. “Your homeworld sounds…difficult.”

“It can be,” she admitted. “My point is, I’d never say something hurtful to make you think you can’t do better than me, lower your self-esteem, and incite your desire to prove me wrong. That’s reprehensible.”

“Do you not understand that I’m a weapon? It’s all I’ve ever been. I don’t have relationships. I have targets.”

“Not anymore.”

The indisputable rightness of that hit him like a bludgeon. There was no reason to limit himself by the guild’s definitions any longer. He might not survive without the armor, but he could reclaim something that had been lost longer than he cared to recall. Pure emotion left him unable to speak for a long span.

“My name is not Toth Krag. That was the role I played. I am Dastoor Oren. Or I was, before I…” Did he want to tell her this? No, it was too soon. Yara Duncan specialized in lowering his defenses, pushing him to reckless, unwise decisions. There was no telling what she’d do if he shared all his secrets. He settled for adding, “We use the second name as the familiar one. Dastoor is my kin affiliation.”

Not that he had received any news from his kith in cycles.

“Oren. I like it. Nice to meet you,” she added, extending her limb toward him.

“What are you soliciting?” he asked.

“It’s a greeting back home.” Without explaining further, she took his massive gauntlet in both her hands and levered it up and down. “There’s history in the gesture. Most people use this limb as their dominant one, so back in more barbaric times, shaking was a sign of peaceful intention because it was also the limb they favored for attacking with weapons.”

He thought he understood the explanation. “If you offer your strong, attacking limb, you will not be able to harm the person you have touched. This is a promise of peace between us?”

“I was never planning to hurt you, Oren.”

Something soft and strange flooded him, hearing his name after so long. “Nobody has addressed me that way in…never mind. It does not signify.”

She shouldn’t be able to hear the nostalgia and longing in his tone. That was what the voice modulator accomplished, making him a force to be feared at all times. But as Yara raised up and peered at his helmet, he had the unnerving sense that she saw through the surface to his roiling doubts. Gently she patted him, though he couldn’t feel it.

“I won’t tell anyone, but since you trusted me with your real name, I’ll call you Oren when we’re alone. Yes? Or if you’d rather I didn’t…”

Normally, people didn’t ask permission for things they planned to do anyway, so it meant something that she was asking. It had been ages since anyone required his input, treated him like a being who could contribute anything other than carnage. The one time he’d tried—well. The guild didn’t take kindly to personal attachments within the ranks, and his beloved one paid the price. He’d wanted to break free ever since, but fear and inertia kept him playing their games—always by their rules.

But no longer.

Perhaps Yara Duncan was a blessing, not a curse. For the first time, hope stirred within him. This heist she wanted to pull had a low chance of succeeding, but it would have none at all if he allowed uncertainty to take root. Mentally, he shook himself.

This is no time to hesitate.

“I would like that, Yara. That’s the correct, intimate form of your name?”

Her respiration spiked, as did her heart rate. Oren didn’t know what to make of those responses, but he noted the changes and started a log inside his helmet. Perhaps he could learn more about humans in general and Yara, in particular, if he studied carefully. When her bio-signs calmed a bit, she spoke.

“Yes, you can call me Yara. I would like that.”

He tried to be gentle with the dismissal, but since he lacked experience in his area, he couldn’t say if he succeeded. “I have work to do before we arrive at Erebus Station. Vital to the success of our mission. You’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly. I’ll talk to you later,” she said, seeming a trifle downcast.

Or maybe not. He distrusted his ability to gauge her emotional responses. Oren retreated into his room, feeling strange and off-center like something momentous had occurred, but he couldn’t put a name to it. Irritated with himself, he dismissed the impression and summoned WU-T2 via code. Soon the little bot rolled inside, and he sealed the door.

“First we work on you,” he said. “And then my suit.”

Both tasks were too important to delay, and he refused to let burgeoning intrigue with a baffling little human keep him from tasting freedom.

EREBUS STATION WAS STRAIGHT OUT of one of Yara’s favorite science fiction games.

She watched the approach on the viewscreen, taking in the scarred, patchwork exterior. It was shaped like an inverted dreidel, wide at the top and narrow on the bottom, where the docking procedures took place. She’d asked WU-T2 to summarize the history of the place while Oren was holed up in his quarters, and she’d learned a few things. Erebus Station had been an outlaw outpost for centuries, but before that, it was an asteroid mining facility.

The Barathi had mined the resources until there was nothing left, just the external shell, but the hollowed-out space and the rough-carved tunnels offered a natural resource for those looking for a place to hide. The station had passed through multiple hands over the eons, and now, there was an uneasy truce between the multiple criminal factions who currently held territory. Fortunately, none of them were allied with the Marjan Collective. Unfortunately, they would all sell them out to the guild in a heartbeat if the contract came through.

We have to recruit the crew and get out before we’re put on the wanted list.

Apparently, three main gangs had divided the territory: Blue Enigma, the Needles Clan, and the Red Giants. WU-T2 had given an overview of how the station was split, but she hadn’t paid that much attention once the droid got down to boring levels of detail, going level by level.

On approach, lights flashed in patterns that meant nothing to Yara, but they must have replied correctly because an aperture opened on the side of the station’s handle like an old-fashioned camera taking a photo. The iris stayed open long enough to admit the ship, and then they were swallowed up by the dark metal. On autopilot—or with WU-T2 at the helm—the vessel glided down a short tunnel and then up a vertical shaft that opened into a disorganized docking bay with ships scattered like Legos.

“Is your respiratory booster current?” Oren asked.

“I just got it for the show on Vaadla Station,” she answered.

“Then let’s go. WU-T2, highest level security protocols. Use violence to discourage undue interest in the vessel if necessary.”

Wow, he’s hot when he’s ruthless.

“Understood,” said the droid.

The inner hatch opened, allowing them to pass into the staging area to wait until the air pressure equalized. Soon, the outer doors hissed open, granting Yara her first in-person glimpse of Erebus Station.

First thing she noticed, it smelled. They didn’t put that in video games or mention it in movies. But when you crammed a bunch of different aliens into a limited amount of space and treated maintenance like someone else’s problem, there would inevitably be issues with the air cycling and refreshing system. And Yara was inhaling deep gulps of it—fake chemical cleaners and types of musk that she couldn’t even name, along with wisps of mildew, mold, and possibly decomposing matter as well.

“Wow, that reeks,” she muttered.

“The suit filters my intake. I gather I should be thankful for that.”

“It’s so gross, you have no idea.”

The docking area was crowded with other arrivals, aliens that defied description. Yara had gotten used to being the only human in the mix, but this was another level of anxiety since everyone here was, by definition, a criminal. Nervously, she quickened her pace as the throng parted for the bounty hunter. Even if they didn’t know who he was, others apparently sensed the power of Toth’s Krag reputation.

Fucking wild. I have a real-life Dread Pirate Roberts situation going on here.

The floor was pocked with rust, smeared with ancient stains that gave evidence of past violence. She followed Oren warily, her gaze locked on his armored back. “Did you finish your secret work?” she asked quietly.

He paused, and she had the uncanny sense that he could see her even with his back turned, possibly via rear-mounted sensors. “It was for our safety. And yes, the task is complete.”

“What were you doing anyway?”

Oren moved closer, lowering his voice, likely to avoid giving them away to those milling around who might overhear and turn them in. “Untethering the armor from guild controls and rooting out all the trackers in the hardware and the ship as well. It won’t change anything long-term, but it might give us enough time to make plans and lay groundwork.”

“Might. I wish that reassured me more.”

The bounty hunter scoffed. “You’re the one that started us down this path. It’s no time for you to lose the incredible nerve that let you extort me in the first place.”

“That’s such a harsh word.”

Whatever Oren might have said, it was interrupted when a cluster of aliens intercepted them. Some were armored, but their gear couldn’t compare in terms of upkeep or quality. It was shoddy and makeshift, like the outside of the station. Yara counted five; she couldn’t identify them by name or planet of origin, but she’d seen all the species throughout her travels. Two were massive, like bipedal Earth hippos with bonus fangs. Two more were covered in spines and had folded wings like a porcupine got drunk and decided to bang a bat, and the universe went, Okay, let’s see how this plays out. The other was small, with a square head, bulbous black eyes, a prehensile tail, and furrier than most aliens.

“You need to pay the clearance fee,” the biggest hippo-alien growled.

Without hesitation, the bounty hunter went weapons hot and blasted the spokesperson with his shoulder cannon. It was a precision shot and left only a charred smattering of dust. Fuck. Yara had known this alien was dangerous and prone to violence, but holy shit. It took all her resolve not to run back to the ship screaming.

I can’t believe I threatened this dude.

“Anyone else want to try and collect?”

Of the four left, the other hippo alien stepped up. “You think you can get away with disrespecting the Red Giants this way? Wait until—”

That one got blasted too. Another charred smear on the already-stained floor.

Krag said, “From what I know, the docking bay isn’t claimed territory. Therefore, this isn’t an official Red Giant operation. This is a shakedown attempted independently, far above your weight, I might add. Now I’ll repeat the question. Does anyone else want to collect?”

If the other three had a brain between them, they’d cut their losses and run. After a pause to confer, the survivors fled. Yara stifled the impulse to make a rude gesture and shout, And don’t come back! Since she wasn’t the badass scaring the crud out of potential aggressors, it would be wise to keep a low profile while she figured out the lay of the land.

Now, in addition to the general stench of the station, it smelled like dead, burnt aliens.

The smell didn’t abate as she chased Krag deeper into the warren leading into Erebus Station proper. It was odd, but she was starting to be able to tell when he donned the Toth Krag persona. When he’d shot those gangsters in cold blood, he was inhabiting the terrifying bounty hunter persona. More startling was the idea that he could deliver such violence at will, like a snake slipping out of its skin. Well, the reverse of that anyway. Because it wasn’t like earth snakes put molted skins back on—

Not the point.

“How’d you know that shakedown wasn’t sanctioned by the Red Giants?” she asked, rushing to keep up.

“Didn’t WU-T2 give you a complete summary of the station territories? The docking area is neutral. Otherwise, it would be a constant battlefield.”

“I did hear it, but I tuned out before he got to that part, I guess.”

Krag made an impatient sound, audible even past the helmet. “How are you so oblivious? You’re like a hatchling.”

Huh, that was what people called offspring that came from eggs. Did that mean that was how Oren’s people reproduced?

Damn, I’m so curious what he looks like under that armor.

Wait, now is not the time.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

They stepped into a lift, crowded by a bunch of other bodies, though the aliens had all presumably witnessed the scene down in the docking area, and therefore, gave them as much space as possible on the platform. It was a rickety thing with shimmering energy walls around it, and it zoomed upward so fast that Yara almost barfed. She clutched her belly and steadied herself against Krag’s armor. Something powered up when she touched him, emitting a light shock. She stumbled back with a curse, and the others on the lift scattered even more, practically frying themselves on the energy field to stay clear.

He held up a gauntlet, gesturing for her to let the crowd flee when the platform came to a stop at the first pedestrian level. And they ran like all the devils from hell were after them. Yara laughed softly.

“Does that ever get old?” she asked.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” he said in a deep, melancholy voice. “Even when I was being trained by the guild, they chose me as the successor early on, so I was kept apart from others. I studied alone. Fought drones alone. Faced monsters with no one at my side.”

“That’s such a sad story,” Yara said. “I’d hug you, but I’m afraid your armor would zap me like a pesky mosquito, and besides, you wouldn’t even feel it.”

“Most of that didn’t translate,” Oren said. “Yet I sense your good intentions.”

Yara beamed up at the terrifying weapon of destruction that she’d somehow ended up enlisting as an ally. “Excellent. Shall we get started, partner?”

[  6  ]

THOUGH OREN DID HIS BEST to feign confidence, he hadn’t felt so out of his depth since the guild acquired him for training.

Before, his life had been nothing but swamps and fishing, long hours spent lurking in the bog to find food for his family. Then suddenly, he wasn’t part of the Dastoor kith anymore. They even took my name off the records. Back then, if he’d known that he was being watched, perhaps he would’ve been less proficient in his stalking. But he hadn’t known that he had a shadow—hadn’t even imagined that it was possible. So when the bounty hunter switched off stealth mode and questioned him, he’d given guileless answers:

“Yes, there are a lot of us. Yes, life is difficult.”

His progenitors had been equal measures exultant and apologetic: “We have debts. If we apprentice you to the guild, they will pay them for us. Our kith can live in prosperity if you proceed along this path, Oren. Will you save us?”

But he hadn’t truly possessed any choice in the matter. From then on, he walked the path that moment of intersection placed him on—straight ahead, no detours, scarcely even glancing at side avenues. Until now. For some reason, Yara Duncan had a strange and inexplicable impact on him. She made him believe that her wild ideas could come to fruition, however improbable that seemed.

“What’s our plan?” Yara asked, breaking into his increasingly dismal thoughts.

The little human had a knack for doing that, almost as if she could sense when his mind tarried in bleak and hopeless places. A flicker of appreciation warmed him from within. It had been so long that anyone spent time with him outside the parameters of a contract. His connection to other beings was tenuous at best, as if he’d become an animated corpse that existed only to serve his employer.

“I found a lead on the deep HoloNet about a contact who can facilitate the crew we’re putting together. The issue will be finding him, as he’s known to be a bit elusive.”

“What do we know about this ____?”

The final word didn’t translate, but since he’d gotten the gist, Oren didn’t question it. “Not much. His name is Linech, but I don’t know what he looks like.”

“That’ll make this tough. Did you get some intel about his habits or _____?”

That time, he had to ask. “His what?”

“Excrement. That didn’t come across? Okay, his habits or…where he enjoys spending his free time.”

“His usual environs?” Oren guessed.

“Close enough. Any info on either?”

“Linech is known to frequent three establishments on station. Lucky’s, Barricade, and Impulse. We should check there first, and if we don’t find him—”

“Maybe we’ll find a lead,” she finished.

Since they were partners now—Oren flashed on the odd spark of excitement he’d experienced when she used the word earlier—he ought to include her. “Precisely. Do you have any preference as to where we start?” It was quite unlike him even to ask.

Her eyes brightened at the question, her bone spurs on full display. Perhaps he didn’t understand what the gesture meant. In other species, it would be a threatening or territorial display, but the readings on his suit registered no hostility. Her bio-readings remained the same, no aggressive elevations whatsoever.

Fascinating.

“It’s so sweet that you’re including me! We should start at Lucky’s. The name practically promises good fortune.”

“In most cases, the luck belongs to the house,” he muttered.

But he didn’t have a better plan, and it was somewhere to begin.

According to the data he’d gathered, Lucky’s belonged to Blue Enigma, and they welcomed anyone who had credits to spend. He led the way to a different lift than the one they’d taken from docking. He had a map open in his smart helmet, and he navigated the maze of corridors, all grimy and dingy, dinged up from turf scuffles throughout the cycles. Rust showed through the patchy repairs, making him wonder just how safe this station was.

Hope we won’t be here long enough for any catastrophic system malfunctions.

Erebus wasn’t strong enough to withstand a full assault from the guild. They needed to move quickly get the personnel together as fast as possible.

Before it’s too late.

He became aware that Yara was wheezing, having trouble matching his pace. That had never been a concern before, but he slowed, though she still had to take two steps for one of his. The hydraulics made movement easy for him, no matter the climate or environment. Outside the suit, it was another matter.

“Sorry,” he said. “I won’t let that happen again.”

“Promise?”

The question cut through his careful distance, slicing deep into an old scar. “No. I don’t make promises anymore.” Before she could ask, he shut down her curiosity. “We’re in Blue Enigma territory now. You can see from the markings on the wall.”

She might not be able to read the symbols, but the shade of blue being used for the graffiti wasn’t subtle in the slightest. Yara nodded, apparently taking in the small differences since they’d crossed that last bridge. The space widened to show several connected tiers. They were staggered all over the interior of Erebus, not all linked by the same lift system. Blue Enigma had claimed territory near the top, offering a dizzying view.

“Part of me still can’t believe I’m here—that this is my life now,” she said softly, gazing down with her face twisted in an expression he couldn’t read.

Frustrating, he wanted to know what it meant when her face pulled and squinched or what it signified when her facial fur moved around. Come to that, how odd was it that she had fur at all. It covered the top of her skull completely, obscuring any interesting ridges she might possess. Too bad. He would like to see the shape of her head. How did potential mates evaluate individual attraction if not for such markers?

Wait, why am I wondering that?

“Do you wish you could go home?” he asked.

“If I say yes, will you help me?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “Altruism is a lie. Nobody does anything that’s utterly without self-benefit. Even those who tell themselves otherwise are doing good for the pleasure of feeling they’ve contributed or played savior to the less fortunate.”

“I’m glad you’re honest at least. If you’d said otherwise, I wouldn’t believe you. Everyone who’s ever helped me had a motive, and they wanted something in return.” Her voice sounded… strange.

A pang went through him, and he found himself wishing that he could be the one who didn’t use Yara Duncan. From what he’d heard from her and personally observed, she’d been exploited and abandoned more than once. But even without the weight of the Toth Krag name and reputation, Oren wasn’t hero material. At best, he was a survivor who had given up on charting his own course until Yara forced him to be reckless.

Even now, he suspected they’d probably die attempting this.

But some things are worth the risk. Like freedom.

If he wanted more, if he were curious about this impossibly bright being walking beside him, he would tame that desire and that curiosity. Following his heart had only brought him agony in the past. I learn from my mistakes.

If the job can be done, we’ll do this together and go our separate ways.

Her words didn’t require a verbal acknowledgment; she wasn’t seeking comfort, after all, and she proved it by quickening her pace. So he changed the subject. “See the yellow flashing lights? That’s Lucky’s up ahead.”

“My deity, that’s a gambling den in space. It’s like I’m in space _____. Wonder if they have betting machines? Games of chance? Will there be aged aliens in there? I love how universal some things are!”

“I have the feeling that I’m missing context, but I gather they have places like this on your homeworld as well? And for some reason, your elders congregate there?”

“Don’t even get me started,” Yara said with an interesting sound. “Oh, I’m _____, by the way. Er, didn’t translate? It’s a noise I make when I’m amused.”

“Understood. I appreciate the cues, as I’ve never met a human before.”

She made a gesture with her forelimbs, graceful and mysterious. “No worries, we’re rare. I gather we get abducted fairly often, but most don’t make it after being dumped on the nearest station and left to fend for themselves without resources or skills.”

“You are a survivor,” he said seriously. “It is to be commended.”

“Do you believe me?” she asked.

“About what?”

“The fact that I didn’t take out that loan. Tu-san must’ve put my name down, but I really wasn’t in charge at Volant’s. It’s a moot point now, but…I’d like it if you believed me.”

“I do,” he said, surprising himself.

“Thank you, Oren.”

Receiving her gratitude sent another uncomfortable flutter through him, something like tenderness, and he braced against the wave of terror it brought. Collateral damage.

If he cared about Yara Duncan, she might not survive it.

OUTSIDE OF LUCKY’S, TWO EXTREMELY attractive Barathi watched the doors.

Or at least, Yara assumed they were good-looking since she’d heard that they gauged hotness via the number of colors that manifested in their patterns. The one on the left had three colors—red, orange, and yellow, while the one on the right sported four—blue, black, green, and gray. They didn’t interfere when Oren led the way past them. She hurried in his wake, feeling like a canoe about to be overturned by a cargo ship.

Inside, Lucky’s lived up to her mental picture and then exceeded it. She’d compared Blue Enigma turf to Space Vegas, though the metaphor didn’t translate properly. It was so on the nose. Everywhere she looked, brilliant lights were flashing, advertisement drones whirring around playing holo-commercials that patrons couldn’t escape, mostly for in-house cocktails or expensive delicacies. Nothing looked appetizing to her human palate, but hell, she was used to that. The day she met an alien that could figure out how to get macaroni and cheese out of a food dispenser, she’d marry them on the spot. Assuming they wanted a human spouse.

The floor was metal like the rest of the station, but it had been polished to a high sheen that caught the neon projections, running with light that shimmered in ever-shifting quicksilver shades. It wouldn’t be recognizable as a bar on Earth, as there was no central counter, and bots did customer service. Instead, there were order stations where beings input what they wanted, and then a droid trundled over to deliver it. Since the place was crowded, the bots stayed busy.

Yara didn’t recognize any of the game machines, but she could tell when someone won or lost based on the tenor of their reaction. Between the flashing lights and the tinkling pulse—like windchimes tapping against ice—of what passed for atmospheric alien background music, she quickly forgot why they were even here, busy trying to absorb everything at once. Thankfully, Oren had a better attention span.

He cut an imposing figure, and the crowd parted around him like the Red Sea. They flowed around his armor, careful not to touch. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it near the back in a cluster of aliens betting on…she didn’t know what. But they tapped their holo devices together amid celebratory noises, and one being appeared to be overseeing the whole endeavor with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

Does that mean it’s an employee?

Oren, in full Krag-mode, marched through like a tank, fully projecting that he expected the path to open. And, of course, it did. Once they reached the group, he said, “Where is Linech? I understand he sometimes frequents this establishment.”

Oh hell no.

Yara didn’t know if they had cops, per se, out here in space, but he sure as hell sounded like one. If he tried that whole, bring out the fixer or I start killing people routine, they’d end up on the hit lists of every gang on station. It might piss him off if she stepped in, but she had to take that risk. She didn’t smile since some aliens took that wrong; she’d learned to be careful about what her face did during potentially dangerous encounters.

She quickly got in front of her companion. “What my large and armored friend is trying to say is that we’d like to talk to Linech if that’s possible.”

“Linech’s not here. Hasn’t been in here in a while. Owes Jarhad more than a few credits. Might be hanging around in the Red Giants sector, or possibly he’s drinking at Impulse. Jarhad can’t collect on Needles turf either.”

Those were the other two places that Oren had mentioned. It sounded like Linech had burned his goodwill here with outstanding debts so that they wouldn’t find him at Lucky’s. Too bad. She was a bit curious and wouldn’t mind learning how some of these games worked. None of them looked as simple as a ball bouncing on a wheel, though there was a transparent table edged in bioluminescence that seemed to be full of water, and creatures were flitting around inside. From what sense she could make of the staccato translations echoing in her head—the matrix struggled with a lot of voices speaking at once—they seemed to be betting on certain swimmers. People back home wagered on dog and horse races, so maybe beings had more in common in general than scientists could’ve predicted.

“Thanks for your help,” she said cheerfully, hoping her tone came across. She didn’t touch the suit, but she did beckon. “We should go. This doesn’t seem like the sort of place that we should stick around if we’re not spending money.”

One of the aliens who had been betting on the wriggly floating worms spat a wad of something bile yellow on the floor, which hissed. So the saliva is probably acidic. Awesome. Definitely not kissing that one.

She moved swiftly toward the exit. In some of the science fiction romances Yara had read, there was always a scene where the human taught the alien love interest about kissing, and while she loved reading that, she’d encountered so many life-forms that didn’t even have mouths per se, let alone lips. Take Farfi the Incredible Annelid, for instance. Great being, but touching her mouth to Farfi’s maw, especially since she knew all about the whole digestive and reproductive life cycle connection? No way in hell.

All that aside, a fair number of aliens didn’t reproduce sexually, have live births, or even experience a sex drive as humans understood it. For Yara, life in space hadn’t been a series of exciting hookups with green and blue-skinned hotties, much to her disappointment. More disappointing, she hadn’t gotten laid, other than self-service, since well before she was abducted. And that basically sucked. Tu-san, the freaking pervert, had suggested she could do a live show to “educate” the audience about how humans experienced sexual pleasure, but she’d drawn the line at eating and doing puzzles.

It was ridiculous, but she even missed the misfit assholes at Volant’s. She’d been traveling with them for a while, and she’d thought it might even be permanent. What’s wrong with me? Why do I always get left behind?

With a sigh, she turned to see if Oren was with her. He nearly ran her down, pulling back hard on the gyros to avoid bowling her over.

“We should search this place thoroughly,” he said. “I don’t trust—”

“We have to pretend to believe them and check the other places before you go hostile. If we still can’t find Linech when we check everywhere, we’ll talk about alternative plans, okay?”

Krag paused, appearing to analyze her statement. “We can’t step back from violence, we can only escalate to it. Understood. Therefore, I accept your proposal for now.”

“Let’s see, I picked Lucky’s. Do you want to choose our next stop?”

“It’s novel to defer to you. I’ve never worked with a partner, and it’s comforting to leave certain decisions in another’s hands. It’s not like receiving orders from the guild because you’re asking for my input, and I’m allowed to opt out. Does that make sense?”

“I totally get it,” she said. “It can be restful to let someone else do the driving.”

“We are not currently in any device designed for transport,” he objected.

The translation matrix implant annoyed the fuck out of her sometimes but subsisting without it had been hellish. Yara shivered, remembering the days on the first station she’d been dropped on, panhandling without being able to communicate with anyone.

“That’s not what I meant. It can be relaxing to trust someone else to choose the right path,” she tried.

“Agreed. Then what’s your decision?”

There was no doubt in her mind about this. “Let’s leave the Red Giants for last. If they found out you killed some of their people, they might be pissed. Even if they don’t have the right to punish you since it was neutral ground, I doubt they’ll be pleased.”

“An accurate assessment. We should head to Impulse. Please wait, I’m activating a holo map so I can guide us there.”

Yara was about to agree when a strange sight snagged her attention. Two freaking humans no less—a man and a woman laughing and talking as they headed toward the flashing lights that framed the entrance to Lucky’s gaming house. When they got closer, she swallowed back a knot in her throat at hearing an American accent for the first time in God knew how long. I wonder if they were abducted like I was.

The pair hadn’t noticed her yet, but—

Oh God. Oh my God. Oh. God.

Yara froze, hardly able to breathe, let alone speak. The woman slowed as she approached the casino, glancing away from the Toth Krag terror, her gaze sliding across Yara and then back again. She stilled, her mouth dropping open.

“Yara!” And then the woman was running, wrapping her up in a hug so tight that she might never get another breath.

The tears she’d been holding for ten years spilled out. She locked on like a squid and whispered, “Mom” in a completely broken voice.

[  7  ]

AS OREN STARED, YARA DUNCAN clung to the other being and leaked copious amounts of fluid from her face.

He would suppose she was experiencing some allergic reaction if not for the incoherent words she whispered while clinging for dear life. The translation matrix made a valiant attempt to convey the meaning of those intermittent exclamations, but sometimes it couldn’t cope. In an olfactory sense, the suit offered more information: shock, excitement, and joy numbered among Yara’s physiological responses.

“This is awkward,” the other human said. “But I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Bojak. I was working—wait, I promised not to discuss that. Maglan said they’d detonate my head if I talked and I’m not sure they were joking. Anyway, I’m a free agent now. I don’t suppose you’re hiring?”

Oren stared. Are all humans like this?

He’d surmised that Yara must be an outlier, and yet he was standing with three humans, and none of them reacted with appropriate fear or dread to the Toth Krag armor. In fact, unless the translator had completely run amok, this human was asking for a job.

Yara detached from the human she was wrapped around, seeming to gather herself. “We’ll talk more later,” she said, giving the other a final squeeze.

“No, we’ll talk now! What are you doing here? You didn’t fall for the meteor shower ruse, did you?”

That stopped Yara in her tracks. Oren wasn’t sure what was happening, but it probably wasn’t good, based on how Yara’s heart started racing. “Is that… are you saying Lucy had something to do with my abduction?”

The other human smelled of sheer fury, unbridled aggression. “You got taken from the Hansen ranch too? Do you think it’s a coincidence that we got picked up in the same spot, roughly ten years apart?”

Yara’s face crumpled, and while Oren didn’t have a lot of experience reading human expression, the suit provided raw data. He’d seen her sadness before. That’s what the facial spillage means.

“But…why?” Yara whispered.

“They probably have a deal with the smugglers,” the human who’d asked for work said. “Humans who end up out here are usually taken when they grab herd animals. With me, it was bad luck. But you two think somebody put you in the wrong place on purpose. Any idea why they’d do that?”

“In my case, it had to be money,” the first human said.

Oren was out of patience with this conversation, but he doubted they would follow him. None of them seemed to respect his role as Toth Krag, and it had been so long since he could be himself that he had no idea what he ought to do in this situation, so he found himself standing by as a baffled observer.

Yara let out a sound that he thought denoted shock. “What are you talking about?”

“I was having a drink with ______ and I got a bit anxious about what would happen to you without me. So I told her about my secret stash in the trailer and asked her to look out for you if anything happened to me. The next thing I know, I’m in the hold of a ship along with a bunch of smelly beasts.”

“That is not a coincidence,” Oren said. “You confessed to hiding assets to an untrustworthy being, then your enemy dispatched you and claimed your credits.”

“That fornicating crevice!” Yara shouted.

The second human snorted. “You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

Yara turned with a snarl. “It’s been a long time, but yeah.” She pressed her face against the first human’s. “See?”

“Settle down, I should never have trusted her, I guess. I really didn’t expect her to be so aggressive for a few thousand. It was what I’d put back for your education or an emergency, whatever happened first.”

Yara latched on again, clinging until Oren felt strange standing by. He turned to the other human. “Is theft common on your homeworld?” he asked.

“You answer me about the job first.”

That’s correct. I didn’t respond to that.

While he didn’t love the idea of more humans on board, at least he could be certain that they weren’t affiliated with the guild. There were certain recruitment standards and galactic flotsam like these humans from a primitive, non-Coalition world wouldn’t qualify. In all honesty, his people didn’t either. Lloshaa was substantially undeveloped by interstellar standards, not that it stopped the guild from recruiting there surreptitiously.

“We’re looking for a slicer, a trap buster, and a demolitions expert,” he said while Yara conferred with the other human.

“I’m okay with starship repair, and I know a lot about blowing things up. Does that give me a chance at being your demo expert?” The speaker indicated the human talking to Yara. “We haven’t known each other long, but she’s top-notch at getting into places she’s not supposed to be and at cracking systems. I’m thinking she could be your slicer.”

“Sorry, I’m being rude. Just trying to help Yara figure out why she ended up here. We can belay the discussion. I’m ______ Windy, by the way.”

The translator had a short hiccup, and Yara tilted her head. “I don’t think that came across. I think it got confused. Listen to the syllables.”

Bojak said something about phonetics and gusts of wind, but Oren was done with all of it. They’d been standing outside Lucky’s long enough that they were starting to draw attention. He had no doubt that he could eradicate all hostiles, but a violent confrontation would make it impossible for them to assemble a complete crew.

“Let’s move,” he said.

Surprisingly, the three humans fell in behind him, the first sensible thing they’d done since Yara first noticed the newcomers.

Bojak spoke up as they moved toward the lift. “It’s because they haven’t seen each other in ten spans, and Yara thought maybe she’d been abandoned, but actually, her maternal unit just couldn’t get home.”

Oren stopped walking. “This is your biological parent?” he asked.

Yara nearly rammed into his back, which would’ve bruised up her squishy face, assuming the suit didn’t electrocute her. “Yes. Did you just figure that out?”

I didn’t. Bojak told me.

But if she hadn’t heard it, he wouldn’t say so. “You can communicate more on the ship. We’ll test these two and see if they can suffice for slicing and demolitions. Then we’ll just need to locate a trap buster, and we can get underway.”

The idea of lingering made him nervous, but there was nothing else for it. Surviving long enough to pull off Yara’s outlandish scheme seemed highly improbable, but it was better than continuing to live indentured to the guild.

They didn’t speak much on the way back to the ship. This time, the docking area was clear, with no potential conflicts as he swept past in his armor, opening the hatch with some misgivings. Maybe these humans would form a collective and overpower him, steal his armor, and jettison his body into vacuum.

“No privacy, huh?” Bojak roamed the small vessel freely, peering into all the short sections, then added, “It’s fine. I can adapt.”

“This ship was not designed to host a permanent crew,” Oren said, feeling somehow as if he ought to apologize for not providing better accommodations.

“Yeah, it’s part of the established mythos—Toth Krag travels alone,” Yara said.

Bojak froze. “Sacred excrement, you’re Toth Krag? Hell, you were just hunting me! Well, someone I was traveling with.”

This is unexpected.

There was only one conclusion he could draw from that exclamation. “You know the Tiralans from Vaadla Station?”

Now Yara and her maternal unit appeared to be confused. He let them remain that way. According to the readings, the human’s bio-signs were fluctuating for some reason, his heart rate accelerated. He is…nervous. But why? Is it because I’m Toth Krag?

Bojak volunteered a plethora of information, all in one speedy recitation. “I do! Traveled with them for a while, but then the crew boss removed them from our ship, and I didn’t feel good about the decision. It ended with me getting ejected. I guess I must’ve pissed them off even more because they dumped me on Erebus Station. I hadn’t been there long when I met Windy Gale.”

Oren could tell that wasn’t her name exactly, but he didn’t care enough to correct the translator matrix. However, it seemed that she did because Yara’s maternal unit cracked open the ship panel and deep dived into the code before he could stop her. In a couple of minutes, she stepped back, radiating satisfaction.

“There, that’s done it. The ship will broadcast an update to all our chips, and we should see better results soon. My name is Gail Duncan. Did that come across?”

“It did,” he confirmed.

“You’re a genius,” Bojak said.

“If this update functions as intended permanently, it will also serve as your trial to join our crew,” Oren said. “The security on my ship is colossal, and you glided through it without difficulty. Truly impressive.”

“I was good with computers back on Earth,” Gail said. “And the beauty of cracking alien code is that it doesn’t account for how the human mind works, so I tend to find weaknesses others don’t consider.”

Oren commented, “That is quite an asset. We’ll capitalize on the general tendency to underestimate human beings.”

“I can’t exactly blow something up for real,” Bojak said. “But with Gail’s help, I can run a simulation and prove that I understand the principles. I can demonstrate what I’d use in any given scenario and what the blast radius and acceptable collateral damage would be.”

Oren glanced at Yara, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. She might be emotionally overwhelmed by this shocking reunion, but they didn’t have time for such refinements. The guild would start hunting for him soon, and she was wanted by the Marjan Collective. Simply put, their time was running out.

“Do it,” he said to Bojak. “The sooner, the better.”

YARA HAD NO CLUE HOW she was supposed to feel.

Her head was fucking whirlwind, her emotions racing all over the place. She wanted to cry and snuggle into her mom. Still, Gail wasn’t the same woman who’d disappeared ten years ago, the one who studied online trying to get a CS degree on a crappy computer in their trailer while working as a server to keep their lights on and their fridge full of food. In some ways, Gail felt like a stranger, someone sleek and sharp and way savvier than Yara could ever be.

Hell, just look at the way she hacked Oren’s ship.

Yara had used WU-T2 as a workaround, but now he’d locked down the droid, and WU-T2 wouldn’t respond to her requests. Other than fast-talk and misdirection, what did she bring to the team anyway? No, I can’t get down on myself or undervalue my skills. This was my idea.

Every group needed a mastermind; she’d learned that much from watching Leverage. It had been one of her favorite shows before she was abducted. So I’m Nate, and Oren is Elliott. That means Mom is Harrison. Wait, maybe I’m more like Nate and Sophie combined? She doubted Oren would agree to hire a lot more people anyway, so they all probably had to play multiple roles.

Do we have anyone to be Parker? That would be the trap buster—the one job still left unassigned. Belatedly, she realized that Bojak was already running the simulation, and WU-T2 had trundled in to observe.

“Welcome back!” the droid said. “Where should I put your prisoners?”

Mom glanced over, her eyes keenly assessing. Before, she had been soft and gentle, a woman who was trying to earn a living by designing websites, but she’d had a hard time attracting clients. Now, she was hard-eyed and ready for anything, as far as Yara could tell.

“We’re associates. No cuffs or cells, thank you,” Mom said.

“Is this correct?” the droid asked Oren.

“I’m not a bounty hunter anymore. I’ll update your database presently,” he replied.

“Want me to do it?” Gail offered.

“Don’t touch my droid,” Oren snapped.

Feeling slightly guilty, Yara put in, “He’s touchy about that. That might be my fault.”

“Of course it is. You blackmailed me.”

“It was one time.”

Bojak laughed, an actual belly laugh. Yara had questions, like was his name inspired by the show, and if so, how, because he looked way older than that. Maybe his parents are time travelers. At this point, she wouldn’t even be slightly surprised to learn that not only were there aliens—there were also time lords who gallivanted around the megaverse cutting through space-time in a small blue box.

“Time to prove yourself.” Ignoring Yara, which stung a bit, the bounty hunter indicated to Bojak that he should start the simulation he’d promised.

Mostly, though, she feasted her eyes on Mom, who, frankly, looked happy as she watched things explode in the holo sim display. She even gave Bojak a few tips, and they argued while whole “structures” tumbled to dust, based on whatever paraments Bojak had set. It was incredibly destructive, and it made her nervous to realize this human had such a knack for destruction.

At the end of it, Oren nodded curtly. “You’ll do.”

“I don’t suppose either of you can recommend a good trap buster?” Yara figured that would be entirely too easy and convenient, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

So, of course, both Bojak and Gail shook their heads. “Sorry. I’ve only been on Erebus a little while,” Bojak said.

Gail added, “A bit longer for me, but the aliens are slow to warm up. They stare at me, and sometimes they want to do sex stuff, but they’re reluctant about offering legit work.”

Yara laughed. “Tell me about it. I was traveling with Volant’s, and Tu-san pushed so hard for me to add a sex feature to my live scene.”

“Yara!” Mom gaped at her, eyes wide.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh my God, I didn’t do it. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with sex work. It’s just not for me, I’m too self-conscious to get off in front of a bunch of random strangers, so it would be fake anyway. I’m not that good of an actress.”

Both Bojak and Oren were extremely quiet, and she realized that maybe the whole “no filter” thing had careened over a cliff. She peered at her mom. “TMI?”

“You know what, it’s been so long since I talked to other humans that I’m not even sure,” Gail said at last. “But let’s move on. As I understand it, we need one last crew member to… do whatever it is we’re doing.”

Beaming, Yara explained, “It’s a heist. We haven’t nailed down the particulars yet. Seems best to have everyone on board before we choose a target.”

“What’s the goal?” Bojak asked.

“Lots of money. I have a loan to pay off—don’t ask—and he needs to clear his debt with the bounty hunters’ guild. So it needs to be a substantial score, evenly split five ways.”

“My baby girl grew up to plot space crime,” Gail said. “I’ve never been so proud.”

“Thanks! I’d like to thank my mom, who never stopped believing in me,” Yara said brightly, choosing to believe that was an actual compliment, not sarcasm.

“We shouldn’t go back to Lucky’s,” Oren cut in, getting things back on track.

The former bounty hunter tended to do that. His stern booming voice tolerated no-nonsense, and God, she was dying to open him like a can of sardines. Wonder if Mom could hack his armor?

No, that’s wrong. When he trusts us enough to show himself, it should be his choice.

“We’re looking for a fixer,” she said.

Both Bojak and Mom looked blank, to be expected since they were both newish on Erebus. Yara motioned to Oren.

“Let’s get back out there. We have two more spots to try. We can find Linech and ask for a rec on the trap buster.” She glanced at Mom and Bojak. “You two should probably stay here and watch the ship in case the Red Giants try something. He kind of vaporized some of their minions while in Krag mode earlier.”

“Shit,” Bojak said.

“Do not let either of these humans access the ship systems, the communications array, or your internal workings,” Oren instructed the little droid.

“Acknowledged.”

“Don’t answer their questions freely either,” Krag went on. “And remain on watch for hostiles, as per my prior command.”

“Am I allowed to play Risk with them?” WU-T2 asked, sounding remarkably like a child who’d been punished.

Yara imagined that Oren wore a deep scowl underneath his helmet. If his species even had faces. “Yes.”

“Would you like to play Risk?” WU-T2 immediately challenged Gail to a match.

She glanced at Yara and smiled. “Absolutely. You’ll have to teach me, though.”

That settled, Yara followed Oren out of the ship with a last wistful glance at her mother. She was reluctant to let Mom out of her sight, but this should be safe enough. It wasn’t like Mom would steal the ship and leave her. She didn’t even abandon me the first time. That was a load lifted she’d been carrying for a long time. Sometimes you got so accustomed to the pain that you didn’t realize how much it ached until someone gave you medicine.

“I’m pleased the universe gave your parent back to you,” Oren said as they stepped into the docking bay.

She smiled. “Me too. I’ve missed her so much. It was always her and me against the world. And then when she was gone, it was just me.”

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Yara tilted her head back, wishing she knew how to interpret those words. “Is that about my mom? Or are you saying that you’re on my team? I mean, not because I forced it on you, but because you want to be?”

She rather expected him to say he’d been talking about her mom’s return, and the long silence left her feeling awkward. Emotionally unsettled already after the tearful reunion, she hurried off, unable to deal with more roller-coaster emotions.

But his deep, grave voice halted her. “I’ve been alone since childhood as well. I thought I was resigned to it, but…”

She turned. The metal suit he wore prevented her from getting any sense of what sort of being he was, but she wished she could touch him. “But?”

“I shouldn’t say more. It’s dangerous.”

What is?

Without responding, Oren moved past her in a whir of hydraulics, leaving her to obsess on the words he’d left unspoken.

[  8  ]

THERE WAS NO TIME TO focus on the growing softness Oren felt for Yara Duncan.

Gentle emotions had only ever ended in disaster when he allowed them to take root. Even WU-T2 offered some risk; the droid could be turned against him as Yara had already proven, though at least if enemies dismantled the bot, repairs were possible. Unlike organic beings, who could be broken beyond all hope.

He pressed forward. They had two more establishments to visit in search of Linech. If they couldn’t find a fifth quickly, it might be best to move on. Lingering on Erebus would only grant their enemies a chance to hunt them down.

Their next stop, according to Yara’s itinerary, was Impulse. She’d suggested saving Barricade for last, as the Red Giants might be holding a grudge for how he’d solved the conflict in the docking bay. While he didn’t enjoy killing, he’d gotten used to it, and it no longer troubled him to make an example of criminals. If they don’t want to die, they shouldn’t challenge me.

He blazed a path toward the lift that would carry them to a different part of the station, though he set a pace Yara could match easily; Oren recalled his promise not to make her run or risk being left behind. The twisting corridors were rusty in places, poorly maintained in neutral territory. Since none of the syndicates claimed this portion of the station, they didn’t care if it fell apart—short-sighted, as degenerating parts impacted the whole.

“I can’t believe my mom is here.”

The strange word came through clearly, possibly due to the vocabulary tweak. “Your…mom?”

“Maternal figure. Parent,” she clarified.

“Understood.”

“The universe is looking out for me,” Yara said, echoing what he’d said before.

He hadn’t meant it literally, of course. It was the sort of thing they had said on his homeworld to explain implausible events or unexpected blessings. From what he’d gathered of Yara’s circumstances, it seemed more likely that the same kith had sold them both to smugglers at delayed intervals, but he didn’t try to nullify her bright outlook. Truthfully, he found her boundless optimism charming. He’d never encountered someone so persistently ebullient, even in the face of facts that actively countered said attitude.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Definitely. I could have died a thousand times over by now, but instead, I met you, the alien hero of my dreams, and I got reunited with Mom. We’re definitely pulling off this heist, paying our debts, and then having epic adventures together.”

Perhaps her optimism was infectious, for the faint stirring of hope kindled inside him in tiny, incremental sparks. It had been so long that he could scarcely recognize the sensation, as unfamiliar as the feel of another’s touch. Together? The word registered belatedly, and he wondered if she truly intended to stay with him once they completed the goal for which they’d formed this limited partnership.

I don’t understand. She knows nothing about me apart from the sound of my voice. And even then, it was augmented by his armor. Bewilderment flooded him, brightened with the gentlest longing—to let her know him. Oren hadn’t permitted such inclinations for so many spans. Not since…

No. There is no merit in wallowing. Misery didn’t need an invitation.

Impulse was far different than Lucky’s, shimmering with slow shifting lights that glazed all the patrons with a sheen of artificial elegance. The music was quieter as well, allowing ample opportunity for conversation. This was a place where the unwary were likely to be drugged or poisoned, not that Oren had to worry about such things. He never imbibed or removed his armor in front of others because that constituted breaking his agreement with the guild.

But you’re not Krag anymore.

Yara was right; it would be better if he jettisoned the suit, but he’d been Krag for so long that he didn’t know if his own skills and identity were sufficient. The idea of living as himself was equal measures terrifying and exhilarating.

He scanned the room, but this time, Yara didn’t wait for him to chart their course. She surveyed the establishment and locked onto someone who might prove useful. Oren couldn’t say what it was about this particular being that drew her, but she hurried straight over.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you’ve seen Linech.”

“What makes you think I know that one?” the Barathi snapped.

“You’re obviously the best connected being in the place,” Yara declared with no evidence to support such a conclusion.

Yet the Barathi responded with a frilled neck ruff, a clear-enough declaration of appreciation, either of Yara’s compliment or Yara herself. A sudden urge to vaporize this potentially helpful contact startled him.

“You’re perceptive. Linech’s in the back. Asked not to be disturbed, though.” The Barathi seemed to want a bribe or a payoff.

Yara probably didn’t have much, and everything he earned went to the guild, apart from the minimum required to maintain his ship. She surprised him by producing a credit stick. After a moment of reflection, the Barathi accepted the offer and waved them back.

“I got paid a little at Volant’s,” she said with a shrug. “They provided room and board, so I didn’t need to spend it. I’ve always been frugal, comes from growing up poor. Even if I need something, it’s hard for me to spend my credits for it because what if I really need them for something else down the line?”

Oren understood poverty. Though he was many cycles removed from the privation of his kith’s struggle in the swamp, he’d been bartered as a direct result of that hardship. There were few vendors and the idea of commerce was new to Lloshaa. It had been easy to trick them into debt, and then the guild stepped in, offering salvation for his entire kith at a bargain price—only the cost of Oren’s freedom.

He didn’t respond verbally but it was growing more difficult to restrain his replies. Closeness with Yara had begun to feel effortless, like a reward he didn’t deserve. She invited intimacy like no being he’d ever known, practically seducing him with the need to confide.

In the back room, they interrupted a deal of some kind. Linech didn’t seem pleased, but Yara spoke a few words in her charming way—and when she engaged like this, even her pheromones swirled more powerfully, perfuming the room with sweetness. “I’m so glad we found you. There’s no way we can succeed without your expert guidance. I know you’re busy and important, but please help us. We’ll make it worth your while.”

Soon, Linech was beaming a list of names, providing commentary on each one. “Fiddler is good, but semi-retired. You probably can’t talk ’em into leaving Erebus. Kretec is a hothead and will fight a wall under the right circumstances. Durancz is actively looking for work, in debt at Lucky’s, so they might be desperate. Finally, there’s Solmare. Best of the bunch, but her personality is the worst. She’d rather take your limb off than look at you.”

“Thanks so much for your time. We’ll let you get back to business,” Yara murmured.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around,” Linech said.

“We are leaving.” His Krag persona came out in a big way.

He didn’t even need to power up his weapons, everyone still scrambled out of his way as he wheeled in a whir of hydraulics and stomped off. It irked him when Yara didn’t follow immediately. Instead, she made conversation for a little longer, and he had no insight as to why it bothered him. Until a solitary, unwelcome thought surfaced, bobbing in the center of his mind.

Yara Duncan is my human.

Immediately he tried to banish the stray thought, but it persisted even as he stalked through Impulse, forcing the merrymakers to give way. Eventually, Yara caught up with him, moving at a dead run.

“What’s the rush?” she demanded.

“Every moment we burn here adds to the possibility of discovery,” he snapped.

“I understand, but I was smoothing things over with Linech. People work with me because I’m the friendly one, right? You stand around looking scary as a reminder that if they fail to reach an agreement with me, then you step in, and nobody wants that.”

For some reason, that soothed him. He hadn’t realized that she found his presence useful in her negotiations; perhaps he was even necessary. “Where do we find our potential trap busters?” he asked.

“I don’t think we should bother asking Fiddler. And Kretec’s temper sounds like a liability. That leaves Durancz and Solmare.”

“We don’t need additional friction,” Oren said. “Even if Solmare is the best.”

“I agree. And someone who’s desperate to earn credits will be easier to recruit. We’re agreed that Durancz is our first pick?”

Oren confirmed, “Without a doubt. Where are we headed next?”

“Apparently, we can find them holed up somewhere in the storage levels. They couldn’t pay for their housing anymore, and Lucky’s goons are hunting for them.”

“Their misfortune could be our gain. If we time this right, Durancz might be so grateful that they’ll get on the ship, no questions asked.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Yara said. “Because you’re right. We shouldn’t hang around here longer than is necessary.”

“Understood. Let’s go save a gambler.”

THANKS TO OREN’S ARMOR, TRACKING Durancz down proved remarkably simple.

She beamed the information she’d gotten from Linech, and Oren’s suit did the rest. It shouldn’t surprise her, really. As Toth Krag, he had been hunting targets forever. This was essentially his job, albeit one he was trying to quit. The actual search took the longest, but once they locked onto Durancz’s heat signature, the rest happened fast.

Yara and Oren proceeded to where Durancz was holed up in a shipping container they were using as a living space. At first, the prospective trap buster tried to run.

“We’re not from Lucky’s,” Yara called as they bolted. “If you disappear without talking to us, you’ll regret it.”

“My weapons will obliterate you, even through solid metal,” Krag added.

Yara glared. “That’s not helping!”

Actually, it did, though, because Durancz concluded that if they could be turned into a smoldering pile of ash even in hiding, they might as well come out and talk before that became the endgame.

“What?” They were a nervous being of an alien species Yara had seen in passing, but she didn’t know much about them. Durancz looked like a plant, frankly, with fronds instead of limbs, and they were all fluttering currently, though there was no breeze to stir their foliage.

“We’re offering you a job,” Oren said.

Yara nodded. “If it goes well, your cut will be enough to pay what you owe to Lucky’s. But we’ll only fill you in completely if you hire on with us. Time is short. Are you in or out?”

“Are we leaving right away?” That seemed to matter most to Durancz.

This must seem like a lifeline out of the blue.

Eager to close the deal, Yara promised, “Right now, if you collect your stuff.”

“I don’t have much,” they said. Soon, that proved true when they returned with a tiny bag. “Let’s go. The sooner I’m off Erebus, the better.”

They didn’t seem to mind whatever the job might be, though they might regret not asking for more details when they found out that this crew was being hunted by the guild and the Marjan Collective.

Oh well. That’s why it’s important to do your due diligence.

“To the docking bay,” Oren said.

Durancz had no trouble keeping pace, moving in a flutter of delicate fronds with deceptive speed. Yara was the one who puffed and trotted, conscious of being like the tiny dog in a pack when she used to see dogwalkers running around the park on Earth.

In the docking bay, their luck ran out.

Three groups converged with weapon fire, and things went to shit fast. Yara dove behind a bunch of rusted spare parts.

If I’m going to switch from being a live scene performer to doing space heists, I need to add to my skill set and get some new gear.

Some of these goons were yelling about vengeance, so they must be Red Giants, and others were shouting about collecting a debt. So they must be from Lucky’s. The rest were heavily armored and grimly silent, more like Toth Krag than petty station gangers. The realization popped, filling her with dread.

Shit. The bounty hunters are here.

“Both of you, get to the ship,” Krag ordered. “I’ll follow when I can.”

If I can. He didn’t say it, but Yara thought it. No, instead, he was in full juggernaut mode, like it was nothing to wipe out this many. Yara didn’t take time to count, but there were a freaking lot of enemies, all shooting and shouting and—

Here goes nothing.

She made a run for it with laser fire scorching the docking bay floor behind her. A hunter locked on to her and fired. Fuck, I’m dead meat. But Krag stepped into the stream, his armor absorbing the shots with a flicker of an energy shield. Others rushed him, and Durancz blazed past Yara faster than lightning, heading straight for the hatch. It powered open on their approach, making her think that Mom or WU-T2 was looking out for them. Durancz scrambled aboard first, and Yara came in right after, stumbling into the depressurization chamber to hunch over with her hands braced on her knees. She’d worked out sporadically during her time in Volant’s; there was no real motivation when she didn’t do much.

That has to change.

A shot struck the ship, rocking it sideways. Fuck, that’s smart. If they target his ride, Oren can’t escape.

No, no, no.

“What the ____ is going on?” Durancz demanded.

“Not now,” Yara called, already on the move.

There was no need to wait, as the ship wasn’t exposed to vacuum, so she rushed from the hatch to the inside and shouted, “WU-T2, does this thing have weapons?”

“Affirmative,” said the little droid.

“You’ve been told to keep us locked out, right? But he instructed you to defend the ship. They’re shooting at us. Get it in gear!”

“Hostile lifeforms confirmed. Toth Krag left standing orders for me to defend with extreme prejudice.” A beep and a whir, and then the ship vibrated with weapons coming online.

Okay, that helped. The droid’s accuracy will be better than mine anyway.

She found Bojak and Mom watching the fight from the hub. The debt collectors and gangers had been vaporized quickly, now only dark stains on the rusted metal. But Krag had taken an insane amount of damage in the time it took for her and Durancz to get inside. The armored hunters the guild had sent had equipment like his, and if it wasn’t for WU-T2 laying down cover fire, allowing Krag to fall back, the collective firepower might fuck him up permanently. Fear burned in her like wildfire, and she ran back to the hold, needing to see him with her own eyes when he finally tumbled past the hatch, his armor smoking with fresh burn marks and charred patches. He didn’t seem as alarmed as she felt.

“WU-T2, get us out of here and strafe enemy vessels on exit.”

That’s fucking genius. I wish I’d thought of it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He seemed to be running diagnostics of all things. “My armor is significantly compromised, and I’m uncertain if I have the parts to facilitate repairs.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Are you okay?” Not being able to see Oren’s face frustrated her to the nearest moon and back.

“I didn’t sign on for this,” Durancz was yelling from somewhere deeper in the ship.

Bojak laughed. “That’s what you get for not reading the fine print. We’re working for Toth Krag now. Let the good times roll!”

She ignored them, waiting for Oren’s reply. Finally, he said, “I’m uninjured. But…I’m not all right.”

“Are you upset about your armor? Or about fighting your former colleagues?” Admittedly, it sucked that the guild already knew where they were, so possibly he was worried about that as well.

“I nearly saw you reduced to atoms,” he roared. “In what universe would I be fine, after barely saving you from certain doom? You are too small and soft, and I…” His voice deepened, sending chills through her. “I must protect you.”

Oh. Oh wow. Does that mean…?

“What am I meant to conclude from this?” she whispered.

“I’m the hero of your dreams,” he said unexpectedly. “But it’s a harder role to play than Toth Krag, and the stakes are…significantly higher.”

Heat swept through her, followed by a melting sweetness, and Yara basically forgot how to breathe.

[  9  ]

YARA STARED AT OREN UNTIL his chest felt like a star about to go nova.

He gazed into the powerful laser of her eyes, drawing him toward her so strongly that he took a step. Before she could answer his unwise declaration, shouting from deeper in the ship interrupted her attempt to hypnotize him. He stormed into the hub to assess the situation on the view screen; the ship hurtled toward the doors, which weren’t opening. Their guns probably weren’t strong enough to blow the station doors on the first shot.

We’re traveling too fast to pull up.

“We need departure clearance,” he called, heading for the gun bay.

“On it,” Yara responded.

He heard her on the comm. “We have an emergency—”

“I don’t care what your problem is. You owe us for the damage to the docking bay.”

Yara radiated desperation. “You’ll care when we contaminate the entire station with this bio-weapon, and everyone dies. If we don’t get enough distance between us and the rest of the population, everyone will be dead in less than a span. Is that what you want?”

“I…you say you have an infection?”

“That’s what I’m telling you! If our ship doesn’t get out into vacuum, it will get into the ventilation system, and then it’ll be too late.”

Despite Krag knowing that this was a massive lie, even he felt some urgency from Yara’s frantic performance. As the ship hurtled toward the end of the docking tunnel, the doors slowly began to part. The ship tilted to slide out the small space and he swore it scraped on the sides as the hangar shut right behind them.

We’d be space debris if not for her swift thinking.

Behind them, the doors were already closing, but not before one of the guild ships scraped through, fortunate that he’d expected those hunting him to be fast. At once he jacked the suit into the ship interface, becoming one with the controls as if he was fighting in the armor.

In response to a thought, the ship rolled away from a barrage of fire. They took a glancing hit, but the shields held. Mentally, he ran the numbers. We can survive five or six more of those, only two or three direct hits. Immediately he returned fire, calculating the likely trajectory of their evasive maneuvers, and he aimed where he predicted they would be.

A solid strike.

Light spread across the enemy’s hull, a flicker as their shields soaked the damage, but according to the new stats flooding his smart helmet display, another sally would destroy them. Oren didn’t know who was at the helm of the ship chasing them, but it didn’t matter. He’d made no friends during his time training for the guild. Coming after him meant their demise.

Life or death. Me or them.

The choice was alarmingly simple these days. He rolled the ship in a maneuver so fast and smooth that it would be impossible without a direct interface, and then he cut the speed, coming up behind the other ship. He released two missiles, and the enemy dodged one, but the other hit. Their ship went up in a flash of light. He increased their speed, rolling away from the wreckage hurtling toward him. A breach could destroy a small vessel as swiftly as offensive weapons.

The ship trembled as he engaged the jump-drive, leaping away from the fight. He had no destination programmed, but the nav computer wouldn’t let him drop them into a dangerous zone. They emerged in a different system, with stars glimmering all around them. In the distance, a gas giant glowed bright blue, close enough for him to see the swirls. He took in a ringed planet next, an asteroid field contained in its orbit. Krag disengaged his damaged armor from the dock in the controls and assessed his own injuries. In two places, the suit had ruptured enough that he felt the burns on his skin.

I took these wounds for Yara Duncan.

And he had no parts with which to repair the armor he’d worn for most of his life. Soon, he would have no choice but to remove it and live as Oren. At most, he had only a few beats before he had to face the rest of the crew. Durancz was still yelling about narrow escapes and hazard pay. Taking a deep breath, he marched into the hub, where the rest of the team was waiting, including WU-T2. Even though his armor was still smoldering, his mere presence was enough to quiet everyone.

“The ancestor trees have cursed me,” the Greenspirit trap buster said into the silence. “Knew testing the luck spirits was wrong, but I did it anyway. Doomed. I’m doomed!”

This one was our best option? Perhaps not. As he recalled, Fiddler had been the most experienced, if semiretired, while Solmare had the best skills and a dreadful personality. In fact, Durancz wasn’t the best, simply the easiest to get on board.

When one has to assemble a team quickly, the results might be…mixed.

“Stay calm,” Yara said. “We’ll explain everything, but you won’t hear us if you’re this upset. And I doubt Krag has the patience to repeat the summary.”

That much was true. Yara’s words worked well. Durancz steadied and quieted again, waiting for him to speak. Three humans regarded him with their strange eyes. They were fringed with fur and had so many colors that he found it baffling. What purpose did it serve? Could they see colors in different spectrums? Do they have night vision? That was idle curiosity, as none of that was necessary knowledge.

He also appreciated Yara keeping her promise about not telling the others his name. Since they would be forming a team, he might inform them when he removed the suit. But she’d kept the secret even from her own maternal figure. That suggested she was trustworthy. She might even be telling the truth about the proprietors of Volant’s and the loan they’d taken out in her name. If she truly was willing to repay it for them, despite being used by them, it hinted at kindness and generosity deeper than any he’d encountered in his entire existence.

Now that I have their attention, what am I meant to say?

“I’ve broken with the guild,” he announced abruptly. “The worst of that attack doubtless came from them. We’ll need to stay ahead of their hunters until I pay off my debt.”

“You’re in debt too?” Durancz asked. “Don’t know if I’m glad we have that in common, but good to land with a motivated crew. Much to lose if we fail.”

My life. My freedom. Not that he’d ever enjoyed either, but thanks to Yara, he was starting to dream. The Greenspirit had the right of it.

Since the humans were quiet, he spoke again. “The humans are known as Bojak, Gail, and Yara.” He summarized their areas of expertise then introduced Durancz, the Greenspirit, as the one who would disarm the traps.

He didn’t tell them that he and Yara had yet to determine what the job would be. That would fill everyone with misgivings as if they’d signed on with a crew being run by impulse-driven amateurs. Privately he feared that was true; better not to confirm it. Oren planned to do some research and offer several possibilities to the team, as if he was taking their expert opinions into consideration, not making all of this up as he went along.

For someone who had lived according to rules and regimented routines for ages, this was madness. It was also…exhilarating.

As if she could quietly read his mind, Yara showed her teeth and said, “Admit it, this is the most fun you’ve had in cycles.”

“We almost exploded,” said the Greenspirit.

“No need to fret over what’s over and done,” Bojak put in.

Oddly, Oren found Bojak’s unflappable demeanor quite soothing. “WU-T2 can give you a tour of the ship. Regrettably, the accommodations aren’t luxurious, as this was primarily used for transporting targets and—”

“I don’t imagine you cared about the comfort of prisoners,” Yara’s maternal unit said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about us if you have business elsewhere. We’ll figure it out.”

That felt like a dismissal as if the three humans had secrets to discuss. He could ask WU-T2 to surveil them, but trust had to start somewhere, and Durancz was already floating after the little bot, firing questions like laser bursts.

My ship is overflowing with other beings.

The thought didn’t trouble him as much as it once would have.

TAKING THE HINT, BOJAK GAVE Yara and her mother some space with an excuse about checking out the ship.

There wasn’t much privacy on board, as Oren had mentioned, but Yara led the way to the little corner she’d staked out as her own since she first came aboard. Mom hugged her again, long and hard this time, clinging like she might never let go. Yara bore with it, feeling the heat of tears prickling in her eyes.

Finally, Mom stepped back to gaze at Yara with overflowing affection. “I’m so conflicted right now. I’d like to hug Lucy’s mom and then slap her.”

“The hug for reuniting us, the slap for putting me in danger?” Yara guessed.

“Exactly. It’s always been like we shared a brain,” Mom said.

“I nearly died of loneliness after you disappeared,” Yara whispered through a knot in her throat. “The worst part was not knowing. If people were right and you got sick of taking care of me, or if something bad had happened but I would never—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mom cut in.

She exhaled shakily. “True. I’d rather talk about you anyway. I was a kid when you vanished, it’s been ten years. You must have had some amazing adventures.”

“I was luckier than most. My knack for tech and the fact that I learn fast? It saved me. I eked out a living on station after I ran…well, I was supposed to be used for parts, but I figured out how things were about to go down, so I skedaddled from the slaughterhouse, and then I lived on the run, hand to mouth…eh, I don’t want to go into it. Eventually, I fell in with some aliens who found me useful.”

“It sounds scary,” Yara said. “I was lucky too—in a different way. Doing live scenes at Volant’s was the easiest gig I’ve ever had.”

“That was you?” Mom exclaimed. “I heard there was a human, but I had no clue they were talking about you. If I’d known—”

“It’s okay,” she cut in.

There was no point in self-recrimination. Yara had told herself over and over that guilt was a pointless emotion; some days, that lecture worked better than others. She sank against the wall, suddenly exhausted. It felt like forever since she’d slept comfortably, and she’d never be safer than she was curled up beside her mother.

Proving that, Mom wrapped an arm around Yara and snuggled into her side. “This was easier when you were little.”

“You smell different.”

“So do you. It’s what happens when there are no human toiletries available,” Mom said in an amused tone.

“True. Tell me about Bojak.”

“There’s nothing much to say. I haven’t known him for that long, but out here, human faces are few and far between. You tend to greet other humans like long-lost friends, even when they’re strangers.”

“He’s also totally a silver fox,” Yara teased, nudging Mom in the side. “And I’m not a whiny kid anymore, crying that I’ll keep you all to myself.”

“I’m the one who’s saying that.” Mom punctuated her point by giving Yara a snuggle-squeeze, ending with a smooch on the cheek.

Her heart sang, memories flooding her of nights in the trailer. No cable, but they had a junky laptop that they’d connected to the TV to watch movies Yara downloaded for free. Mom used to make popcorn the old-fashioned way on their little gas stove, the hot kernels went ping-ping-ping inside the pot like hard rain on a tin roof. Some nights, the cold was too fierce for the propane heater, so they’d snuggle up beneath a thermal throw, share body heat, and sneak toasty hands out of the covers for a handful of popcorn while living vicariously through the movie.

Feels like so long ago.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Yara said then, putting her head on Mom’s shoulder. “I mean, it’s not like I can get abducted by aliens again.”

“Quite statistically improbable. Tell me about the job?”

Yawning, she stretched, feeling myriad aches and pains catching up to her. “Can I snatch a nap first? I’ve been running on optimism and adrenaline.”

“Definitely. I might catch a few winks myself. We can talk more when you wake up. But for now…” Mom kissed her forehead gently. “Love you, Yara-bean. I planted you, but you’ve grown into a beautiful flower all on your own.”

“That’s a weird metaphor,” she mumbled, already drifting.

Beans don’t flower. Do they? Maybe they do. Then she was dozing, safe and warm, for longer than she could recall.

When Yara woke, she had no clue how long had passed, and Mom was nowhere to be found. At first, she flashed into a panic, thinking she’d dreamed or hallucinated the whole thing. But then Yara found Mom chatting with Bojak while they played Risk with WU-T2. Durancz was in the hub with them, floating around offering unsolicited advice on the match.

“Anyone seen Krag?” Yara asked, remembering to protect his privacy.

She liked knowing something about him that nobody else did. It would be even better if they shared more secrets. Maybe then I could get a glimpse of him outside the armor. But if curiosity killed the cat, what does it do to humans?

“Rigged some temporary measures,” Durancz announced, “but can’t survive on this ship long-term without some major adjustments. Lights are wrong, and I need nutritive soil. I’m already exhausted, look at how my fronds are wilting!”

That would take money, credits Oren probably didn’t have. For that matter, they might need capital to buy equipment, too, depending on what the heist ended up being. While Yara could manage small bribes like those back on Erebus, her private cred stash wouldn’t go far. She doubted Mom had amassed a fortune either while Bojak seemed to have been doing some sort of resistance work, which sounded like nonprofit pay to Yara.

Why haven’t I met a single space tycoon? In science fiction romances, there were always uber-rich protagonists who owned whole planets willing to do ridiculous things to impress their love interests.

“We’ll add it to the list,” she said since Durancz seemed to think she handled complaints and crew service.

Maybe I do?

In all the heist movies she’d watched, they glossed over this sort of thing.

“The ship will need to charge the fuel cells too,” Bojak put in. “I had a look at the engines, and it’s been a while.”

Dammit.

Yara tried on a smile. “Adding that to the list too.” Before anyone else could come up with another problem, she said, “Bojak can’t be your real name.”

“Oh hell no. I made a joke about the show and the translator told them to call me that. I couldn’t get my actual name to come across, so I’ve been Bojak for six years.” He gazed at Yara with hopeful eyes. “Do you know how BoJack Horseman ends? It was a deep show, you know.”

With real regret, she shook her head. “Sorry. It was still on the air when I got snatched, but I didn’t watch it.”

He sighed. “It was a long shot anyway. Lord, I miss Earth TV and food sometimes.”

“Meatloaf,” Mom said in unison with Yara.

She grinned at her mother. “I tried to explain that to Tu-san once… they ran Volant’s. And I ended up with the weirdest thing that I was afraid to eat, because I had no idea where the minced meat came from. I fed it to Farfi the Incredible Annelid when Tu-san wasn’t looking.”

Durancz fluttered some fronds to attract their attention. “This conversation might be important, sorry to interrupt. Can’t be sure because the translator is glitching a lot, must be specialized jargon.”

“Sorry,” Yara said, feeling like their impromptu human coalition had been rude.

“Not the issue. Just wondering if our leader is well. Krag has been locked up in his quarters for an alarming amount of time. Should someone…check on him?” From their tone, it was clear Durancz had no plans to volunteer.

“Not it,” said Bojak, who still hadn’t revealed his real name.

Damn, wish Durancz had kept quiet long enough for me to find out. I’ll ask later.

Mom glanced at Yara, biting her lip. Though it had been a long time, she still recognized Mom’s reluctant face. She’d do it to spare Yara, but honestly, Yara wasn’t even scared of Krag the way the others seemed to be.

“I’m on it,” she said resolutely.

[  10  ]

OREN REMOVED HIS ARMOR FOR personal hygiene purposes.

He refreshed himself, consumed some nutrition, and permitted himself to rest. His wounds weren’t serious, but he couldn’t reach them easily to disinfect them. His skin was singed and sore, proof of his improbable altruism. Yet he did not regret saving Yara Duncan.

Since then, he’d been trying to repair his gear to no avail. While he could still don the armor, it would offer lessening returns, which could prove fatal to their primary plan. If he couldn’t inhabit the role that filled their enemies with dread, he had no inkling what purpose he might serve in the team they’d built.

The team Yara had built. Innate honesty forced him to make that mental correction. She was unreasonably skilled at talking people into things. Witness how quickly she’d gotten him to care about her, despite old scars and new fears. To say nothing of how she’d charmed Linech without even needing to resort to bribery, as she had with the underling.

As he stared at his damaged armor, a tone sounded outside his quarters. Oren didn’t need to ask who it was. The screen showed him at a gesture, and he took a few breaths to consider. There was no reason not to invite Yara in. Then he stepped into the armor. While he might be ready to take one step, it was another decision entirely to show her the face no one had seen since he became Toth Krag.

That would amount to a declaration. Choosing to be that vulnerable would be a statement regarding his intimate intentions, though Yara Duncan might not understand as much. Once the armor closed around him, still smelling faintly of overheated circuits and burnt metal, he keyed the security protocols to allow her free admission, a sign of trust he’d offered no other being.

She stepped into his space boldly, not reacting when the door closed behind her. “I’ve been sent to acquire proof of life. Are you hurt badly?”

Oren couldn’t admit that he had wounds in need of tending. “I would have emerged presently on my own.”

“Sorry. If I’m bothering you—”

“You are not a bother, Yara Duncan,” he interrupted.

Before the attack, he’d essentially told her that she mattered to him—that she aroused urges he’d thought long since eroded by loneliness and loss. But she made him want to fight, not for the guild, but for his own happiness.

“We never finished our private conversation,” she said then.

“Correct.”

For a little while, she regarded him with her uncanny eyes, tiny stars swirling with impossible colors. “You said something about being my hero, but that the role is difficult?”

Now that he had her undivided attention, his words dried up. It had been easier to speak with fear coursing through him. She was small and soft; it would be most unwise for him to allow his attachment to grow. Or perhaps she was a better bet than he could have predicted, for she’d survived with only her wits to sustain her, and the universe was hostile, as Oren knew.

She seemed to sense that he required time to organize his feelings—and that was her greatest strength—the ability to intuit what others needed. Yara shifted her attention to Oren’s quarters, and he became aware of how utilitarian the space was, how little of himself had been allowed to bleed through.

Everything here belongs to Toth Krag. Nothing is mine. Except, possibly, Yara Duncan. If I’m brave enough to take this step.

That was the question. For him, it was easier to stride into combat facing down a dozen well-armed criminals than to risk letting this human get close. He shifted backward, as if she could somehow see inside his armor, and it scraped the burns on his back and shoulder.

Oren hissed.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded.

Then she did what he’d feared all along; she peered closer at his suit, finding all the places where the shots had penetrated layers of shielding and metal. Yara raised her face, and though he was unschooled in human expressions, he read the accusation in that look.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Not serious.”

“Fornicating excrement!”

That was a curse that the translator couldn’t process correctly. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”

Oren could’ve pointed out that saying as much constituted a retort, but he had the eerie impression that he shouldn’t push Yara Duncan. What he feared might happen, he couldn’t say, but he didn’t wish to provoke her. Absurd, when he analyzed the instinct since he was still inside his armor and she had no weapons, nor any ability to defend herself, so far as he could discern.

“I will heal,” he assured her.

The wounds would close faster if he could get some antibiotic gel on them, but the angle made that difficult. In the past, he’d sometimes asked WU-T2 to do it, but the droid had no sense of appropriate pressure for such treatment, using its extensors, so the treatment was often worse than the injury. His immune system would likely overcome the challenge of infection, but fighting through might weaken him, a risk of delay that they could little afford.

She stepped toward him. “If you don’t take off that armor at once and let me assess your wounds, I swear I will cut you out of it like you’re an aquatic creature in a metallic cylinder.”

“Do your people put aquatic creatures in metal cylinders?” Shock immobilized him.

“Not live ones,” she snapped.

Oren stared in silent awe. Humans truly had original and disturbing methods of dealing with their enemies. Even Toth Krag didn’t take those he killed and store them. What would be the purpose? A trophy to admire, perhaps?

“That is not the point,” Yara went on. “It’s a metaphor, though I’m entirely serious about getting you out of that armor. I know it’s easier to be Toth Krag, but enough is enough. Your name is Oren. Be Oren!” Her voice gentled, so much that he strained to hear it. “I like Oren.”

“Do you?” Softness warred with skepticism, and the doubt won, making his answer sharp. “You don’t even know me, Yara Duncan. Not where I’ve come from or the things I’ve done along the way.”

“So tell me,” she invited, rather than taking offense.

He…had not expected that. Perhaps he should have, as Yara rarely conformed to his preconceptions. Knowing so little about humans complicated his ability to predict her behavior further, but on some level, he also sensed that she wasn’t like anyone else in the universe.

“We have more important matters to discuss,” he said, trying to step around her. “The rest of the team—”

“Will wait. We’re safe enough for now. Everything else will keep if you want to talk to me. If you don’t, say that. Don’t make excuses about the job.” She crossed her arms in front of her, trying to become a full obstruction in his path.

She’s magnificent. And fearless.

Oddly, that frightened him because such recklessness could go wrong in so many ways, so many paths where he might fail to protect her. Heroes handled such things, did they not? But he had always been more of an antagonist, putting an end to other stories. Oren scarcely credited that he might deserve one of his own.

“I want to speak with you,” he finally admitted. “To pass time with you and…”

Why are words so difficult?

Yara seemed to have no such dilemma. She spoke her mind with boldness, whereas he couldn’t find his courage. There were too many variables, no way to calculate the outcome of taking a chance on a human with a preternatural gift for getting people to do what she wished.

Yet he sensed no malice in Yara Duncan. Utterly perplexing, all of it.

“And…get to know me better?” she suggested. “Or should I skip ahead? Maybe you meant to say that we should run away together once we pay our debts.”

“Why would we need to run? If our debts are paid, there will be none to chase us.”

She flashed her teeth, and his suit linked her physiological reactions to amusement. “You’re so literal. It’s endearing.”

There she went, complimenting him as naturally as she breathed. He wasn’t used to any of this, but…perhaps he could adapt.

I want to.

Toth Krag was a shell he had been wearing for long, agonizing cycles, and Oren knew that there were creatures who could survive sloughing off a skin or carapace that no longer fit. Several such species lived in the swamps of his homeworld; his people caught and ate them—when they were the most defenseless, hence his current fear. He’d been hunting gyllux when the guild came for him.

I refuse to live in the past. It has no power over me any longer.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

He extended an armored limb, let it drop when he realized he couldn’t touch her, not like this. “Making me want to live again.”

Then Oren stepped out of the damaged armor.

FUCKING SHIT.

That was what Yara had said when she first found out Oren was hurt, and she barely managed to refrain from repeating the exclamation when his armor whirred open. She hadn’t bothered trying to picture what he looked like under the Krag get-up, because her imagination probably couldn’t have done the job. Sure, she’d seen sci-fi movies, but she’d always been more partial to heist and conman films. Ironic, since she wound up abducted by aliens, but some of those fast-talking skills had saved her ass out here more than once.

Her gaze clung to him as he stepped out of the suit. From the shape of his armor, it made sense that he was bipedal with two arms and two legs, but there, the resemblance to humanity ended because he had blue-green iridescent skin with small scales marching up his flanks, more prominent on his neck and shoulders. To Yara, he looked like a snake-lizard person, lean and lithe with alien musculature. His legs were faintly bowed and though he wore nothing, she couldn’t tell what kind of equipment he was packing.

Must be internal. That was the case for a surprising number of aliens. Her lack of personal experience aside, she’d still watched plenty of explicit holos.

His body was impossibly slim, strange in its lines, though she admired the way he moved. And his skin was gorgeous, delicately patterned in sparkling sea hues. He had webbing on his feet, revealed another thin membrane beneath his arms when he stretched.

Yara regarded that for a moment in astonishment. “You…can you fly?”

“Glide,” said Oren. “Sometimes we hunt from above. There are groves on my homeworld, foliage so thick in the swamps that it blots out the sky. I was good at diving, gliding, snatching up a…” The translator fritzed.

She gathered it was some creature they’d hunted for food, though. Yara feasted her eyes on Oren; there was something incredibly graceful about him. She could picture him moving agilely through the air or in the water. It’s a crime that he’s hidden for so long. He’s beautiful.

Wait, no. Stay focused. You got him to take his armor off because he’s wounded.

“Where does it hurt?” Yara asked.

Immediately, she wanted to facepalm because it sounded like she was offering a full-on “doctor” roleplay. Thankfully, the translator couldn’t paint pictures like that, saving her a metric ton of humiliation. In response, he spun around slowly. Like the rest of him, his feet were narrow at the back, wider at the front, and he only had two…not toes, exactly, since they were webbed.

Stop staring at his feet. Get it together.

In all honesty, while she’d traveled with lots of aliens, she’d never been up close and personal with one. Yara didn’t even know what Oren’s people were called. Her gaze traveled upward, and she realized belatedly that he was still wearing his freaking helmet. Earlier, she’d threatened to open his armor like a tuna can if he didn’t remove it voluntarily.

What must I do to get the helmet off? Never mind, don’t ruin it. This is a big moment.

Yara acted like it was totally normal to be alone with a naked alien who was wearing only a battle helmet. Or maybe it was more of a life goal? Certainly, some of the people Yara had known on Earth would pay good money to be in exactly this situation. Giddy energy bounced through her as she admired Oren’s bare body. She sobered when she spotted three burns high on his back, though. The skin was rough and darkened to black with a raw sheen bleeding through. Not plasma but a similar fluid, most likely.

“It must be obvious,” Oren said with a certain air of bemusement. His voice sounded different as well, muffled, no longer augmented by the on-board AV system built into the suit.

And at first, she didn’t even know what he meant since she’d been staring at his gorgeous form long enough to forget her own question. I asked about his injuries, I think.

“Right. Where’s the medicine?” Hopefully, that would translate.

In response, Oren indicated a panel on the wall. Yara hurried over, and it opened at the lightest touch, revealing recessed storage. She was curious about the personal effects he had stashed away, but he might kick her out if she went off task. But it seemed wise not to get the substance on her bare skin without knowing what was in it, so she found a device that might suffice as an applicator. She brandished it.

“Is this clean?” she asked.

Please don’t let this be an alien sex toy. Although…

“All of my equipment is sterilized before I put it away,” Oren said.

The gel was a vivid orange, like the skin of the Florida fruit, but translucent. Jell-O, she realized. This was like Jell-O that didn’t set up right. It jiggled on the applicator as she smoothed it over his wounds. Since she couldn’t be sure how much to use, she erred toward generosity. Oren exhaled, seeming to take relief in the treatment, so maybe it contained an analgesic as well.

His skin soaked it in thirstily, and soon, there was no trace of the healing jelly left on his body. Her fingers itched as she resisted the urge to trace an exploratory path down his back. The little differences between their bodies delighted her, the delicate whorls that patterned him and the small crest on his neck that continued down his spine. This might be shameless, and it could make him mad, destroying the progress they’d made, but…

Yara couldn’t resist asking, “Is it okay to touch you? I’m curious how your skin feels.”

Lord only knew what the translator would say. It might tell him she wanted to flay him and make a hat. His long silence made her fear that she’d messed things up, but then—

“Please don’t prod my wounds.”

Like that was why she wanted to get her hands on him. Possibly, he had the wrong idea entirely—that this was medical interest? But hell nah, she seriously had the hots for him, and it had only gotten stronger since he saved her life, getting shot in the process. Her hand trembled when she grazed the skin of his back, which was softer than it looked. It was rough when she ran her finger upward, velvety on the downstroke. Oren jerked, his head swiveling to study her from an angle that wouldn’t be possible for a human.

Yara bit her lip, suddenly self-conscious. “Did I hurt you?”

“I doubt you could,” he returned.

She considered a smart remark and decided it would ruin the mood. At any moment, he might put the armor back on since she’d applied the healing jelly. Better make the most of this. Cautiously, she ran her nails down his back, five gentle scrapes at a time, diligently learning the feel of his body. His muscles were dense and sinewy, coiled in a way that could never be mistaken for human, even with her eyes closed.

She breathed in the scent of his bare skin, rather sunny and verdant, bright with grassy notes, along with a chemical tang from whatever he used for hygiene purposes. “I’ll try not to. I would never do it on purpose.”

“I know,” he said.

That profession of faith made her want to hug him, but then she’d have to explain the gesture. Yara stroked his back a few more times, and on the last pass, a visible response rippled across his skin, like a stone dropped into still water.

“I think…I’ve become sensitive,” he said, a darker note in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because it’s been a long, long time since anyone touched me.”

After getting this far, Yara didn’t want to wreck things, so she stepped back. “Thanks for indulging me.”

“It was my pleasure.” Oren rotated to face her once more, his face still obscured by that dratted helmet.

This is killing me. I wish I could see his eyes.

On impulse, she extended a hand in human fashion. “Nice to meet you, Dastoor Oren.”

He studied it closely, then he clasped her hand with his two webbed digits, just as he had on his feet. She felt a fine tracing of capillaries along with the gentle thrum of his pulse.

“May I?” he asked.

Distracted, she didn’t even know what he was asking, but she gave permission in a daze. Oren ran his hand up her arm and it felt shockingly good, as if he was filling her with energy somehow, little flickers of heat lightning building between them.

Wow. Okay.

Her whole body quivered. Oren drew in a deep breath and the colors at his throat deepened, maybe like the sexual flush Yara felt starting on her own chest. He might even know that he was turning her on in the most improbable way. Forearms weren’t even erogenous for her, normally. How should I handle this?

While she pondered, Oren pulled off his helmet at last.

[  11  ]

IT HAD BEEN LONGER THAN Oren cared to recollect since he showed his face to anyone.

If the guild found out, it was a death sentence. He’d agreed to live and die as Toth Krag, signed away his entire being in a contract he didn’t understand. All he’d known was that this would save his kith; he hadn’t realized that he would incur even more debt as part of the guild’s insidious training program. It was impossible to get free once they got their hooks in.

Briefly, he wondered what Yara thought of his true aspect.

Her features were much different, and she was as strange to him as he must be to her. Yet she stared at him, rapt, her odd five-digit paw hovering as if she wanted to touch him. If she solicited permission again, he would let her.

Please, let her ask.

“May I?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She traced the ridges of his head, seeming to take particular interest in the scales that framed his throat. Her touch was light as air as if she might wound him accidentally. Excitement stirred when she grazed the glands in the side of his jaw that allowed him to sense heat from other living creatures; the same sensory organs that made him an adept hunter also provided irresistible stimulation, paired with her stunning warmth.

Is that normal for humans?

Contact with Yara felt scorching, sending prickles of heat that started at his head and worked downward, setting all his nerves alight. With a slow blink, Oren switched color spectrums, and even without the armor, he gleaned an extensive amount of information from her physiological responses. Elevated heart rate, accelerated breathing, increased blood flow—

She touched his head everywhere, learning the contours and shape of his skull. Normally, there wasn’t much digital contact between his people. He wondered if Yara had hidden sensory equipment in her skin; she might be recording data about his reactions as well. Did that mean she could scent the faint mating pheromone he was exuding? It was extraordinary that she’d gotten him to that point, just from grazing different parts of his cranium.

“You’re magnificent,” she said finally. “Is it permissible for me to ask a few questions?”

“About what?”

“Your body. And your people, frankly. I’ve never…” She stopped speaking, seeming to hesitate over admitting that she’d never met anyone like him.

Oren had no doubt that she hadn’t encountered any of his race before. The Lloshaan tended not to be spacefarers, too poor to afford the technology that would allow them to escape the swamps of his homeworld. When they went to the stars, they were uplifted, as a few humans had been—taken to serve someone else’s purpose.

The Lloshaan were adaptive to their environment, capable of tolerating extreme heat and cold. If conditions became untenable, they could enter hibernation until circumstances improved, and according to the oldest stories, their people had survived extinction events through cryptobiosis. However, Oren had never heard of any Lloshaan achieving that state. Mostly, when they were relocated, they endured, and they toiled.

Just as I have.

“I’m Lloshaan,” he said, wondering how the translator would process that. “What we call ourselves is derived from my homeworld, Lloshaa. It’s very green, and that’s what the name means. There are a hundred shades of it—in the trees, the plants, the water, and the moss that grows on every stone.”

Memories overwhelmed him, and he ached with resurgent images of the horizon painted bronze with sunset, how it was gray at sunrise, until the sun rose, brightening the sky to dusky rose. There was no light anywhere else like the diffuse glow on Lloshaa. Yet if he returned, the Dastoor kith wouldn’t welcome him. They’d fear reprisal from the guild. Come to that, he should not have told Yara his kith name; he had no right to claim it any longer.

“Yo-shawn,” she repeated.

Her pronunciation wasn’t quite right, but he suspected her throat wasn’t shaped to get enough air behind the alveolar fricative. She had the flat teeth of an herbivore, whereas the Lloshaan were primarily carnivores with teeth designed for tearing. She might find the small, sharp bone ridges that lined his mouth alarming. For the first time since the catastrophic misstep that left him dead inside, he cared what someone else thought of him. He wanted—

He wanted.

“Would you like to hear more about Lloshaa?” If she was uncomfortable with his current state, she gave no sign of it. He did notice her gaze flicker down his body more than once.

“Please,” she said softly.

Oren scarcely knew where to start, gentle with the astonishing privilege of describing his home to someone who cared enough to listen. “Our sun is red. We have seven moons, named for the goddesses we worship.”

“I would love to learn about your religion at some point,” she said.

That seemed like the wrong word to Oren, though he didn’t correct Yara. The goddesses existed and ruled over various spheres, and a good Lloshaan thanked or blamed them, as the situation required, but life was too hard for more effort than that. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even thought about them. Toth Krag honored no deities but death and destruction.

“You would be greatly beloved by Doazeloka,” he said softly.

“And why is that?”

Oren allowed himself a moment of private amusement. “I think I’ll save that explanation for another time.”

“Fine, I’d rather learn more about you while you’re in a sharing mood. Do you…have gills?” She touched his throat, rousing another wave of unexpected pleasure.

Really, her heat felt unnatural, and she truly had no insight into how she was affecting him with her closeness. Her smell was foreign but not unpleasant, with layers of secrets embedded in her body chemicals—sweet in soft places, salty in others, with more scents entwined in her head fur. He wanted to pull her close and revel in her warmth, like basking on a hot rock after a successful hunt, pleasures he’d all but forgotten.

Somehow, he forced his mind back to the conversation. “Yes. I can breathe air or water. There’s some flexibility in what atmospheres can sustain me as well, as my lungs can adapt. I can also see in multiple color spectrums, including ultraviolet, and—”

“This isn’t an interrogation,” she said. “Or an interview for employment.”

Her eyes were abnormally bright as well, whole galaxies swirling in her strange, variegated irises. Yara’s were much smaller than his by comparison, yet they were more colorful. His were large and dark, skilled in detecting the faintest movements from elusive prey—another reason why the guild had come to Lloshaa seeking the best of their hunters. He had been so proud at being chosen, so elated that he could save his kith from privation.

With a start, Oren realized he had been listing his abilities as if he needed to impress her. But…she’d already determined that he was the hero of her dreams, however improbable it sounded to him privately. There was no need for a mating display. What she’d said was a declaration of intent, at least among the Lloshaan.

It wasn’t a question of if anymore; it was when.

Yara Duncan was his person now, the one he’d kill to protect, one he’d die for as well, though it was likely too soon to tell her so. He hadn’t imagined it was possible to penetrate Toth Krag’s armor, but she had done so. Now he wouldn’t wear it again. As she’d suggested, he’d sell it at their next fuel stop. That move would enrage the guild immeasurably, but they’d already put a KILL ON SIGHT bounty on his head.

Penalties didn’t come stronger than that.

Before he could share even a fraction of his feelings, the door code sounded outside his private quarters, then Bojak said, “I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but we need to talk about the job. Settle some details.”

Briefly, he considered killing the annoying human for the interruption and studied Yara for an infinitesimal span. She probably wouldn’t like that. A species tended to be protective of their own, and they needed him for the job. While she thought Oren was worth saving, it was impossible to do as much violence as he had and emerge unscathed. His spirit was still mostly numb, indifferent to the fate of most of the universe. He was weary of the violence, inured to it.

“He’s right,” Yara said, settling the matter. “We can continue this later. Afterward.”

“Later,” he agreed.

Oren considered those words a binding oath, one he couldn’t wait to fulfill.

SINCE OREN WAS SO GLORIOUSLY alien and astonishingly sexy as fuck, Yara hated to make this suggestion.

“Humans can be a bit…staid,” she said. “So you might want to put some clothes on.”

He straightened, his tone conveying that he’d taken offense to the suggestion. “Why? The Greenspirit wears no covering.”

“Durancz is a plant.”

“And?” He still seemed baffled.

God, she fucking loved his eyes; they were dark and glittering like the ocean at night, a hypnotic hue that sometimes looked black, sometimes the darkest blue. His head was triangular, broader across the top, narrowing around the jaw. His features were inhuman, as his nose was flat, slits in his face, practically, and those pretty, shiny scales marched all the way up his neck, armoring him against claws or blades in the back. Patches of skin on his face were darker blue, thicker, and she itched to touch them again, as it had seemed as if he’d enjoyed it when she did.

No, I have to focus.

She forced herself to stop admiring his taut, densely muscled form. “Plants aren’t sentient on Earth,” she tried. “We don’t expect them to put pants on. Nobody would be like, ‘oh my God, get that rhododendron a robe! They’re showing their pistil and their stamen!’”

“None of what you said made any sense,” Oren said.

“Never mind. Do what you want.” She felt more than a little weird about Mom seeing Oren naked—the alien Yara intended to bang—but if he was determined to prowl around like this, so be it.

“Your argument is illogical. Plants are not sentient on your homeworld, but Durancz is, so you should be uncomfortable with their unclad state as well.”

She let out a little snarl and hit the eject button on this conversation, activating his door and dodging out before he could keep asking about her faulty logic. And yeah, she could admit that it was. Maybe, if she wanted to bang Durancz, she’d feel weird about Mom seeing them naked too? That could be the line.

A little while later, everyone was assembled in the middle of the ship. Yara privately called it the CIC because of a game she’d played before getting abducted. “Combat Information Center” was long, though, and nobody else would get the joke. Well, maybe Bojak. He could’ve been a gamer, but she didn’t know how long he’d been away from Earth.

“I’m Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite chair on this spaceship,” Yara said, plonking her butt on a seat that had a bunch of straps.

Sadly, the others just gave her weird looks, and nobody appreciated how freaking hilarious she was. It seemed like Bojak had no idea what she was talking about either. Not a gamer then—he did have an aw-shucks, cowboy vibe to him. She sighed. The chair wasn’t even that comfortable, as it seemed to have been designed for beings with more limbs than she had, and it was angled awkwardly.

Whatever, I was doing a bit.

“Got away from the guild,” Durancz said. “Barely. No idea where we’re going. What’s the plan?”

“We don’t have one. More of an idea. Like twelve percent of a plan, maybe.” She desperately wanted someone to say that was better than eleven percent, but that didn’t happen.

Mom’s never seen Guardians.

While space grifting was mostly cool, she did miss Earth stuff. Like movies. And caramel corn. Corndogs. The latest bop. And long, hot showers. Space hygiene tended to be fast and funky, even when she had it easy traveling with Volant’s. Nothing beat a soapy shower, though when she tried to explain the concept to Tu-san, he had been horrified at the idea of such profligate waste, and Yara got a lecture about the scarcity of water in space. Apparently, there were whole ice mining operations that ran supplies to colonies where it was limited.

“Thanks for admitting your lack of preparation,” Durancz said with a flounce of fronds.

Just then, Oren entered the CIC. Thank God he’d listened and wrapped himself up in strips of cloth. Somehow it resembled a bandage dress, and damn, could he work it. Everyone stopped to stare at him, and she tried to be cool since she’d already seen him out of the armor. Yara even tried to pretend this was no big deal—not momentous—a whole sea change, even.

“I would murder a corndog,” she muttered, pretending not to notice Oren’s arrival.

There was a pause, then everyone decided to follow her lead. And Bojak said, “Me too,” with the most feeling she’d heard from him so far.

They shared a smile, and Mom shot Yara a soft, sympathetic look. The former bounty hunter settled the others with a stern glance from large, glistening eyes. Fuck. Wow. Furtively, she gorged herself on Oren’s alien beauty, all sleek muscles, and sparkling skin. If she peered close enough, there were patterns on his chest and shoulders, faint shifts from blue to green and back again, changing with the light.

“To fund our endeavor, I intend to sell the Toth Krag armor,” Oren announced.

That shut everyone the hell up. Some things were more pressing than her corndog craving, like finding out that Oren planned to take her advice. Wait, this is…the second time, I think. First, he put on clothes, and now he’s honest-to-God selling the armor?

“Have to be fast,” Durancz said. “Even if you disable all tracking tech, the guild will close all reputable doors to us.”

“Renzo,” said Bojak. “The whole damn world’s a scrapyard. We make a stop there, wrangle the best deal we can, and get the hell out before it goes bad.”

Since Yara had only gotten to see worlds—and stations—that could afford the price of admission to Volant’s, a frisson of excitement trilled through her. Renzo was on the seedy side, full of lawless types. From what she’d heard, if Erebus was a planet, it would be Renzo, so she couldn’t wait to check out the locale.

“Any objections?” Oren asked.

That was a surprisingly democratic question, coming from someone who’d worked alone for ages. She couldn’t wait to show him how much she approved. Later.

WU-T2 whirred in a circle, then said, “I am also guild property. Will I be liquidated as an asset? My parts can be sold.”

She was reading into things, anthropomorphizing this little droid, but he sounded sad. Before anyone could answer, she said, “Hell no. You’re on the team, WU-T2. Mom can scrub any lingering guild protocols, I’m sure.”

Her mother nodded. “Definitely. I’m aces at rooting out hidden programming.”

That was the coolest thing she’d ever heard her mom say. Back when she was studying computer science, it was all databases and java or whatever. Who could’ve guessed that her degree would be valuable in freaking space?

“I will be useful,” WU-T2 promised.

Was it normal to want to pet a bot on their metal noggin? Because Yara did. The little dude liked playing strategy games, and he tried his best to be helpful, even when it bit Oren in the ass. Hopefully, that sexy alien wasn’t still holding a grudge about the blackmail.

Yara said hesitantly, “At the risk of being a buzzkill, we also have the Marjan Collective hunting us. Sorry about that. And whoever Durancz owes money to as well.”

“Won’t pursue me.” The Greenspirit seemed more hopeful than certain, however. “Expensive and inconvenient, no profit in burning the fuel.”

“Huh, I’m not the troublemaker for once,” Bojak said with a faint chuckle.

Yara canted her head, wondering if Mom had her own problems. They’d always been able to do that. A head tilt equaled a silent question. In answer, her mother shook her head slightly. It seemed like she was in the clear, nobody searching for her back trail.

Mom said, “My last job went well. I’m trying to save for my own ship, but it’s not easy, and many beings refuse to do business with humans, as we’re all undocumented out here.”

That…was true. Yara had been dependent on Volant’s in ways that made her uncomfortable, but she’d also been grateful. Enough that she couldn’t even be mad about the fraudulent loan and subsequent abandonment.

“If everything goes well, this should get you there,” Yara said brightly. “And after I pay off the Marjan Collective, I’ll put what’s left into the kitty to buy our ride because I’m not letting you go anywhere without me again.”

A long silence ensued, with Oren and Durancz seeming horrified. Then the Greenspirit asked, “Why do you intend to flay and defile some helpless creature?”

Yara figured that the translator went haywire and produced something weird. “Ah, I meant that I’d give my credits to my mother. So we can buy a ship together.”

“Everyone agrees that we’re headed for Renzo?” Bojak gave a satisfied nod, taking silence for agreement. “Let’s set a course because I’m longing to get a look at the engine on this beauty and see what she can do.” Without waiting for approval, he headed for the engine area.

“Don’t touch my ship,” Oren snarled. The man held up both hands in a placating gesture, but it might appear threatening to someone who didn’t know human body language. In two moves, Oren had Bojak facedown on the floor. “Do you understand?”

Yara wasn’t surprised that Oren had a hair trigger. From what he’d told her, he came from a culture of hunters, and the guild had polished him into an avatar of destruction. It would take time for him to understand that not all situations had to escalate. And frankly, she enjoyed the idea of him being her weapon, someone willing to unleash hell on her behalf.

“I got it. Let me up! Metal tastes like crap, and I need my teeth. There’s no dental plan for humans abducted by aliens!”

Oren glanced over at Yara as if for guidance, and she gestured at him to let Bojak go. Will he stand down if I ask? Casually, he released the pressure, and Bojak practically scrambled out of the CIC. The others found they had shit to do elsewhere, leaving Yara alone with Oren. Just like I wanted. Does this mean we can pick up where we left off?

Oren prowled toward her and lifted her bodily, much as he’d done in the armor. It was an entirely distinct experience now that she could feel him against her. Then he said, “Set the navigation for Renzo, WU-T2. And do not allow anyone to interrupt us. That’s a code one command, no exceptions.”

Hot damn, it’s on. I’m totally fucking this Lloshaan.

[  12  ]

ONCE OREN HAD YARA ALONE in his room again, he immediately wondered what had come over him.

Generally, he wasn’t impulsive, but he’d carried her off without hesitation. She showed her plain, small teeth in a way that made him think she didn’t mind. Then she said, “We should resume that conversation. Do you intend to copulate with me?”

That had to be the translator; it didn’t sound like Yara at all. Most likely, she’d phrased the query differently, but the question remained.

“You’ve led me to believe that you’re drawn to me,” he said, sidestepping at least momentarily. “Has that changed, now that you know more of me?”

“No. If anything, I’m more attracted. You’re incredibly hot.”

Oren found that to be a strange and baffling statement. “Your ambient resting body temperature is higher than mine.”

Her spurs sank into the spongy flesh that rimmed her bony maw. Didn’t that hurt? “Let me see if I can explain, assuming the translator lets me. ‘Hot’ means I find you physically appealing. I suspect the usage comes from feeling flushed and excited when you’re close to someone you find desirable. The person makes you feel like you’re standing beside a fire, so you say they’re hot.”

“I understand.” Being compared to a force so powerful—that was a high compliment indeed. “Then, shall we find out if we’re compatible?”

“Yes, please!” When he activated the scanner, she stared with clear confusion. Oren explained, “I’m checking to be sure our body chemistries won’t cause any adverse reactions.”

Yara muttered something that stymied the translator, so he added, “I didn’t understand.”

“Trying again. I said this must be the space version of the secure coitus talk.”

That didn’t entirely make sense either, but the computer finished analyzing their genetic makeup and determined that they weren’t toxic to each other. It seemed that they couldn’t eat the same food but touching wouldn’t cause any problems. Mingling more intimately might require an immune booster, however.

“It would be wise for us both to receive vaccinations first,” he said.

She appeared to ponder the idea. “That…is a first. Let’s do it. Wait, do you have the medicine on board?”

“I can fabricate it.”

It didn’t take long, but he was achingly aware of her the whole time. He had no access to educational materials, no sense of how such an encounter normally proceeded between two humans. On Lloshaa, there would be a hunt, a chase—the roles played agreed on beforehand. And the ending was understood; teeth would be used in marking and fierce urges indulged with both parties breathless and sated afterward. There might be a repeat if it was enjoyable, but such moments rarely created a lasting bond. The Lloshaan often changed partners, rarely committing to a permanent pairing.

But Oren had left Lloshaa so long ago that he’d forgotten how to touch and be touched. There was no space for the chase, and he doubted Yara would want that anyway. Her people seemed softer, gentler. I hope I don’t disappoint her.

At last, he administered the boosters that should protect both of them, just in case.

And then he regarded Yara from across his quarters, utterly unsure how to continue. His last encounter had been with a Barathi, one who died for loving him. Even now, the guilt nearly smothered him, making him doubt the wisdom of this path.

“You’re thinking a lot,” she said softly. “Do you…not want to?”

“I’m at a loss. This is unfamiliar territory. Today I’ve let multiple beings see me without the armor, and now…”

“We can go slow if you prefer. Just live in the moment, Oren. Some things can’t be predicted or planned. One day, I was working at a terrible, menial job. The next, I’d been dumped on a space station. And now, I’m looking at you, seeing someone I can’t wait to get to know. In every conceivable way.”

Her words soothed him, settled his nerves, and he unwrapped the strips of cloth he’d donned for her. Yara’s logic had been absurd, but he found he didn’t wish to discompose her. And now, it felt strangely momentous, baring himself to her gaze, though she’d seen him before. Now, he didn’t expect her to treat his wounds and nothing more. Rather, Oren planned to learn everything he could about her body and wring all the succulent juices from this experience in case it was never to be repeated.

“You have ___,” she said. “Sort of. I don’t know if I can teach you how to _____.”

Two pieces of data were omitted, but they seemed to be important ones. “Try again?” he suggested. “On the third and final words.”

“Hold on. Mom showed me how to tweak the translator.” She fiddled with the terminal briefly and then said, “Lips.” While touching her mouth. “And kiss. Your face shape is a bit different, but I might be able to show you how to kiss.”

Those were human words, and they had no meaning for him, but if she wanted this, he’d try to learn. The Lloshaan didn’t have extended mating rituals. Survival took precedence, and the hunt was foreplay; it roused all the necessary hormones and adrenaline.

“Show me,” he said.

She touched his glands again, holding him still, and then she pressed her face to his, almost as if she meant to share food, as parents did for their young. And then she nibbled at him with her blunt teeth, tasting him as well with a soft tongue. For humans, it seemed there was some conflation of appetites. Yet the contact was so soft and gentle that he couldn’t mistake it for aggression; he had no sense that she truly meant to devour him.

It was…odd, but not unpleasant. Not arousing either. He got more pleasure from the way she stroked the heat-seeking glands in his jaw while sampling him. Then her tongue touched his. That felt entirely too intimate, a little deviant, but Oren silently savored that, the sense of being perverse and using his mouth for something that was never intended. She slid her tongue around his and even sucked on it, and he throbbed with the first pulses of excitement, deep inside.

She pulled back, still rubbing the glands on his jaws. Perhaps that was meant to be affectionate; she couldn’t know it was an erogenous zone. He inflated them a little, letting her see that she was affecting him.

“Is that good? Did you like it?”

“The mouth-to-mouth contact is not too enticing,” he admitted, “but I enjoyed what you did with your tongue.”

That seemed to please her. Yara’s scent was changing, deepening, and blooming in ways that fell over him in a pheromone wave. That’s the mark of human arousal.

She rose up to kiss him again, and she didn’t linger on the lip exchange. Instead, she played with his tongue some more, skirting the edges of his fangs. When her tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, he shuddered in reaction. Oren had a wealth of nerve receptors there, configured for acquiring data on his prey, but it also felt incredibly good when she stroked there, softly in teasing licks. His whole head tingled, and his glands puffed more.

Soon, she’d have him ready to mate. He could already feel his ventral slit getting slick, even without the thrill of the hunt. He growled a little and opened his mouth wider, so she could continue driving him mad. Yara stepped back and peeled off her coverings, multiple layers of them. Oren couldn’t believe his eyes.

Unwrapped, she looked oddly…unfinished. She was completely the same color, no interesting striations, no scales or frills. No wonder she preferred concealment—she also appeared alarmingly soft. Oren doubted that she’d fare well in a hunt. She possessed extra parts as well, features he couldn’t puzzle out, such as the squishy protrusions on her upper torso.

“Say something,” she whispered. “You’re making me nervous with all the staring.”

“You are without patterns. It would be difficult to camouflage you in a swamp.”

She made a peculiar, choking sound. “Slow down, hot spark. You’ll inflame my passions with that kind of talk.”

Hot spark? Is that an endearment among her people? Oren decided he liked it.

“I will find an appropriate personal name for you,” he declared, taking a step toward her. What a strange creature she was, this unclad human, all tender, bouncy, and defenseless.

She touched the spot where his scales gave way to softer skin, making him hiss with pleasure. “Honestly, I liked it when you called me ‘tiny nightmare.’ Shall we…keep going?”

“Yes,” said Oren, his voice dropping to a rumbling pitch.

YARA COULD’VE TOLD OREN THAT some humans had patterns, but she didn’t feel like explaining tattoos when she was trying to get laid.

In fact, she had been weighing the decision of what her initial ink should be, and then she got snatched. So here she was, unpatterned. A liability for swamp running, for sure. Good thing she planned to avoid all bayous like the plague.

She still hadn’t gotten a look at his equipment, and she didn’t even know if they could make this work. Should I ask outright what kind of junk he’s packing? But the translator would probably make the question bizarre and creepily clinical, like, Please present your genitalia for inspection. And she was trying to build a mood when there was no telling how much time they had before the next emergency.

The kissing experiment had been a qualified success, tongues anyway, and weirdly, the roof of his mouth. When she considered it, that made sense since he had some reptilian and serpentine features, including the extrasensory organs on his face. She didn’t know exactly what those did, but he seemed to like it when she rubbed them.

Oh shit, what if those are the magic buttons? Does that mean I need to sit on his face?

Not that she had a problem with it because his tongue was long and agile, more than a human’s, and it was an interesting shade of azure, several tones lighter than his skin. Like, if she had finished a large blue raspberry slush from Dairy Queen—that color. It would probably feel awesome for her, but considering that he’d seemed to find kissing weird, how would he feel if Lloshaan sex was just some jaw nuzzling?

To hell with it. I’ll never find out anything if I don’t ask.

“I’m not sure how to make you feel good,” she confessed. “If I even can.”

“The fact that you’re touching me is almost more than I can withstand. It’s been many spans since I’ve experienced anything so exquisite. And you’re so warm. I want to wrap myself around you and experience your magnificent splendor.”

That was a touch hyperbolic, but it made her happy anyway. “Never been called either of those things. Magnificent or splendid.”

“I’ve hoarded words, traveling alone as I did, but I will spend them all praising you.” His voice still sent chills down her spine, even without the armor.

This was the first time she’d ever gotten so wet, just from talking. She squirmed a little, resuming her careful exploration of his body. He stood quiet, allowing her the freedom to trace his muscle groups, to investigate the delicate webbing beneath his arms. Sometimes he quivered, or his breath quickened, but he didn’t make the sounds she was hoping to hear. Maybe the quiet was normal? But she’d made him hiss once.

His colors were shifting, though. The greens were brighter, the blues deeper. This might be a mating display meant to entice her. Yara wished her nose was better so she could appreciate any subtle nuances he might be offering. She tested the theory by kissing the swollen spot on his jaw. Judging by the look of the stretchy, rippled skin, this was meant to happen. He made the sound she wanted when she used her tongue there, and his came out with a hungry flutter.

“You like that,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question.

“It feels decadent.”

Now that she knew he preferred tongue action, she tried various soft spots. Some he seemed to find strange or ticklish. Others made him jerk and bare his teeth in startled enjoyment. Hope I don’t start hallucinating. The computer said we’re not toxic together, but—

Eh, whatever. If I start tripping balls, it’s worth it.

Then she noticed the suggestion of wetness on his lower abdomen. There was a seam, nearly imperceptible, and when she stroked the sides gently, he responded with a grunt and a fucking impressive display. Suddenly, his gear was right there, wet and quivering, like it popped out at spring-loaded velocity.

This…is definitely an alien cock.

It was in the top ten of the most amazing things Yara had ever seen. It was long and deep blue at the base, tapering toward green at the bifurcated head. She didn’t think she could stuff all of that inside her, and it was ridged in the most interesting fashion. That’ll probably feel awesome. The more she looked at it, the more she thought it qualified as a hemipenis, and the secondary head might notch right up against her clit in the best way. The shaft was ringed in what she guessed were something like testes, but they didn’t hang. Instead, they formed a circular rosette with two segments on top, two on the bottom.

“You’re ready to go, huh?”

“I’m always ready,” he said unexpectedly. “But I only display when I’m eager to mate.”

She guessed that “display” meant popping out, but did that imply he was constantly erect? That was an interesting evolutionary path. As it turned out, she was much freakier than she’d ever imagined because she was ready to go. She didn’t need him to stroke her or touch her boobs. After imagining what he looked like for so long and getting steamed up just listening to his voice, she needed to finish what they’d started, long before she even saw his face.

“What’s the normal Lloshaan mating position?” she asked.

“It depends on the pairing,” he said, “and ‘normal’ is relative. But for our configuration…from behind is probably the best choice.”

Fuck. Yes. That was her favorite.

“When we mate for reproduction, it can occur in multiple ways. I’m capable of gestating young through external fertilization. Do you object to penetration? To better suit your preferences, I can also adjust my—”

“No, have at me.” She wriggled her ass, hoping it looked enticing, even without patterns.

His strong hands steadied her hips, holding her still. “I’ll resist the urge to bite you. Your skin is too delicate for my teeth.”

Doggy-style it is.

Doggy-styled by the Alien sounded like a book Yara absolutely would’ve read back in the day. She assumed the position, and he settled behind her. But he hesitated.

“There are two…options,” he said.

He wasn’t designed to DP her; the angle would be wrong. And hell if she’d try that as her first close encounter of the sexy kind anyway. Yara cleared her throat. “The upper…input can be used for sex, but it’s also connected to my digestive system.”

Can’t believe I called my booty an “input.”

A hot flush swept her whole face. Please don’t ask about butt sex. I’m not ready to explain that. And I have no idea how I’d prepare. I doubt the fabrication unit has a cross-compatible lube formula ready for alien anal.

“And the other entrance is purely for reproduction?” Thankfully, Oren accepted the relatively simple clarification.

“Yes.”

Fuck me already.

He did.

Just as she’d imagined, the longer part of the shaft slid right in, and the ridges felt amazing. Yara made an incredulous noise as the secondary head slipped through her folds, teasing her even as he swirled his hips. He didn’t use a pumping motion like a human, but fuck, that friction felt good.

“You’re so hot,” he gasped. “So. Hot.”

She suspected he meant actual body temperature. “You’re making me even hotter.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible without actual combustion.”

Yara tilted her hips so that his next movement nudged her clit, and she shuddered. This felt like nothing she’d ever experienced, but already, she couldn’t get enough. “Does it…” She couldn’t bring herself to ask if he liked it when she was already so close to coming.

Besides, she could barely breathe for the sensations sparking wildly through her. She let out moans so loud that they didn’t even sound like her as he shifted inside her, working her body in a completely unfamiliar way. Yet she loved it, fucking loved it.

“Oren,” she breathed.

He caught on to her reaction quickly, and soon he was rubbing her clit intentionally with each twist of his body. Yara learned to rock side to side in a slow left to right, and he hissed and snarled, so that must be working for him. In time, he pressed his front to her back, caging her with his arms and his teeth grazed her shoulder.

He wants to bite me.

“Fuck, yes,” she whimpered, not caring that he might do considerable damage with those fangs. I’ll heal, right?

“I shouldn’t.”

“Do it, I don’t mind.”

He sank his teeth into her shoulder, and it felt like a row of needles, so thin and sharp that she scarcely felt the sting. Yara could tell how careful he was not to lock his jaw. Another twist, another, and then he was rubbing the perfect spot inside her while stimulating her clit. Between that and his possessive mouth on her shoulder, she came screaming his name.

Her vision flickered, but she felt him going too, incredible heat and fullness combined with spurts against her slick and swollen core. He’d said something about external fertilization, so the Lloshaan must have orgasms both inside and out? Did that mean same-sex reproduction was possible? How freaking cool. Yara had questions about Lloshaan physiology, but she was too dizzy to focus on biology as she collapsed beneath, limp, with his teeth still in her shoulder.

I should probably be more concerned about that. But a curious numbness was flooding the area like maybe the bite also carried an analgesic.

“Wow,” she whispered. “Seriously, fucking wow.”

[  13  ]

THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED.

Oren had no insight as to how such matters were ordinarily concluded among humans, but they’d dozed off together before talking could occur. And when she woke, Yara had pressed her mouth to his heat-sensing glands and then donned her coverings with a nonchalant attitude. It felt like they needed to discuss what had happened or at least acknowledge it, but she left without hesitation, rejoining the others as WU-T2 announced that they were approaching Renzo. Since his people didn’t expect fidelity and didn’t often form pair bonds, he ought to be gratified by this rare interlude. He ought to be ready to move on with the mission, having shared a surprisingly pleasurable moment.

He wasn’t.

No, he felt something else entirely, a shifting discontent that left him uneasy, as if something more should have occurred. But he had no indication of what had been omitted, and the sensation irritated him like a sliver of bone caught in the meat of his mouth. Yet there was little to do other than push forward. In the bottom of a container, he found a thermal suit and recalled Yara’s fixation on covering his form. He donned it for multiple reasons, as Renzo was frigid at the best of times, and they would be landing in the heart of the coldest season. Oren also selected a few choice weapons because it was unthinkable for him to be defenseless.

It felt odd to exit his quarters without his armor, but he must become acclimated to it. I’m selling it to finance our future. That decision also weighed on him, and misgivings scratched at him, like predators perched beyond his perception. Oren shook off those doubts.

I’ve decided. No going back.

In the hub, the others had already assembled. He didn’t greet anyone, only addressed WU-T2. “Take us down.”

The droid interfaced with the ship, guiding them through a troublesome atmosphere churning with turbulence. Soon, they landed in what passed for a spaceport. On such a desolate world, it was an automated site with bots shielded against the bitter, biting wind trundling around an ice field. The area was scarred from old landings, where the glacier had melted and refrozen time and again, creating a white and textured patch of ground. Oren concluded his assessment on the viewscreen, turning as the others sprang into motion.

“Thermal suits on,” Gail called. “I’ve never been here, but I hear it’s like the afterlife has frozen over.”

“A frigid scrap heap,” the Greenspirit mumbled. “What I get for gambling. Will stay on the ship. Doubt you have anything that would fit, can’t tolerate those temperatures without protective gear.”

“Nobody can,” Yara said in a kind tone. “Stay here where it’s safe, by all means.”

Durancz fluttered a little over that expression of concern, and Oren glanced between them, feeling even more unsettled. The feeling centered in his stomach, and he wanted to hiss, so unusual that he thought about going to the medical area and doing a quick scan to see if he’d caught some terrible human disease. But no, I did the work before. It was safe.

What’s wrong with me?

“If Durancz stays, I’m staying,” Bojak interjected. “Not saying I don’t trust you, but we just met, and you’re not stealing this ship out from under us.”

“WU-T2 would kill them if they tried,” Oren said.

Bojak and Durancz startled at his words, and even without his suit to offer precise data, his senses whispered to him of their fear. He was the only predator in this group; the rest were herbivores or herd beasts, more comfortable together while Oren’s people hunted alone. Yet another reason why the guild had come to Lloshaa and bought the most promising young stalker.

“I’m still staying,” Bojak insisted.

He received the impression that this argument could continue indefinitely, so he turned away. To WU-T2, he added, “Don’t permit them to interact with the ship’s systems. Full lockdown until I return. Maximum defense protocols as well, your imperative is to prevent interference with this vessel. Kill any stranger who approaches closer than—”

“That seems harsh,” Yara cut in.

He angled a look at her, wishing that fluttering, unidentifiable feeling would settle. “I’m not gentle, no matter what conclusions you’ve drawn from our association. Don’t expect mercy. What’s mine is mine. That includes the ship and everything on it.”

She opened her mouth, but apparently, she decided not to argue. “Understood.” As if she didn’t intend him to hear, she murmured, “This is so wrong. I never knew that I’m hot for the ‘willing to kill anyone who isn’t you’ ______.”

He couldn’t decide if that was a compliment, but it didn’t matter. Everyone who was disembarking had thermal suits on. Yara pulled on a helmet, and Oren activated a hover cart. With help from the others, he got the armor on board, and they stepped out of the ship. Even through the protective gear, it was freezing cold, the wind biting into him. For him, it was especially miserable, and his blood screamed at him to get back inside. He could feel torpor threatening, a warning that cryptobiosis might override his need to remain awake and alert.

Thankfully, there was an automated transport, a rugged rectangular unit. He shoved the cart, laden with the armor he’d worn for most of his life, and then the three of them piled into the heated vehicle. It trundled across the ice on noisy treads, carrying them toward the settlement. Which was mostly a ragged collection of corrugated huts, surrounded by wrecked starships. Magnetic spikes in the atmosphere made landing tough, so unless the ship had high-quality upgraded shields, they often plummeted like a wounded gyllux. Outlaws and criminals came to Renzo to trade, as there was a surplus of available parts due to all the wrecks. He’d sometimes wondered if the scavengers who ran the outpost augmented the problem somehow, increasing their take.

Not that it mattered. His ship was fine; the guild had delivered top-quality to their best hunter. And now I’ve stolen it from them. Some part of his hindbrain was darkly amused at his own audacity. Since meeting Yara, it was like a film had been torn from his senses, and everything was brighter, sharper, full of extra savor, like biting into—

The transport jolted to a stop, rocking him out of his thoughts.

“Ready?” Oren asked.

He’d been talking to Yara, but Gail replied. “As I’m going to be. I’ll follow your lead. But if you trust me, I’d like to see if I can get my hands on some supplies.”

While she didn’t elaborate, he felt certain that she meant underground hacking tools. “Do as you see fit,” he said.

“We’ll meet you when we’re finished,” Yara added.

“You’re accompanying me?” he asked, torn between happiness and shock. He’d assumed that she wouldn’t care to let her maternal figure out of her sight after their heartwarming reunion. “Is it because you don’t trust me? You’re afraid that I’ll leave the two of you stranded.”

Her large eyes opened further, giving her a piscine aspect. “No! I thought it would be enjoyable, just the two of us. Like, a _____.”

“The translator has failed us again,” he said, quite regretful. “The last word is unknown to it—and me.”

She made a noise that didn’t register with the translation matrix. Then she showed her teeth. “Trying again. Wish I could tweak it, but we’re too far away for me to connect. I meant that I want to spend time with you. This outing will allow us to be together for a bit, just us. It’s a mating ritual, I guess you’d say.”

“We already mated,” he pointed out. “Are you attempting to entice me to do it again by demonstrating how skilled you are at commerce?”

YARA LAUGHED.

Why is it so freaking hard to flirt with this alien? Yet she also found Oren adorable, and she was way too into the morality chain they had going on. I’m a sucker for the “will kill anyone who isn’t you” trope, who knew? Before, she’d always been about grumpy / sunshine, and they had some of that happening too. I’m living the best romance, I swear. She didn’t even mind the bite marks on her shoulder. For some reason, they didn’t hurt, and his teeth had left an interesting pattern, like an asymmetrical star.

“Would that work?” she asked, desperately amused.

Oren took the question seriously, as he took everything seriously. He gave it proper consideration before he spoke. And hell, she enjoyed his gravitas, even as she wondered if he was ticklish. Is that a thing? Maybe now’s not the time, but I’m absolutely finding out.

“Possibly,” he acknowledged in his deep and dreamy voice. “There’s only barter on my homeworld, and I’ve lived with the guild handling all financial matters since I left Lloshaa. So perhaps I would be impressed.”

She grinned, inordinately delighted with his response. “Let’s find out.”

Yara followed the heaviest set of tracks in the snow, with Oren guiding the hover cart. Renzo was so freaking cold that her nipples hurt, even inside the thermal suit. Breathing sucked because the filter didn’t heat the air, and it chilled her trachea and her chest. How the hell does anyone manage to live here? Back home, she’d played computer games where toons walked around on ice worlds, but she’d never accurately imagined how horrible it would be.

Why couldn’t our sell run take us to a place like the Salarian homeworld? Instead, it’s worse than Hoth or Voeld. I can’t wait to get out of here.

Inside, the building was a ramshackle marketplace with multiple fires and what she’d compare to chemical heaters burning in different spots. Other makeshift boiler units had been cobbled together out of scrap. Yara judged that this was a multipurpose structure. Aliens were cooking food, some seemed to be resting, and others were doing business. In the back corner, she felt quite sure three or four different types of aliens were getting busy. The noises sounded like a farm she’d visited that kept all kinds of livestock, and she gave thanks that her sense of smell wasn’t great, plus she had on the helmet.

“Wow,” she mumbled. “This is…a lot.”

“It reeks,” Oren growled.

Yeah, not taking off the helmet. But I wonder how the stink compares to Erebus?

She’d learned the hard way that it was best not to draw attention to herself. It was one thing to be the only human on display at Volant’s. They’d had security, and her cubicle had been shatter-proof. That safety didn’t carry over when other beings decided to get curious, so it’d be better if she didn’t rouse anyone’s interest.

When we negotiate, I’ll speak up then.

The helmet was tinted, and it should mask her features somewhat. If everything went sideways, Oren would protect her, even without his armor. Odd how sure she felt about that, how willing she was to put her life in his hands. But she’d felt that way, even when he tracked her down and took her from Volant’s, the most unlikely conviction—he’s come for me at last, the one I’ve been waiting for. Which was romantic nonsense, and Yara knew it, but still, she couldn’t help what her heart was whispering. She’d lived in the real world her whole life, facing tough realities and making do, but now?

Now she was ready to believe in miracles.

And that’s weird since he’s an alien, not a wizard, but whatever. The metaphor is wonky, but this is right.

She scanned the room and quickly focused on the biggest stall. That should mean they had the most money too. Yara tilted her head. “We should start there.”

“I’ll follow you,” he said.

That startled her. In a good way. She loved that he was willing to put their fate in her hands. Loved it even more than he accepted that he needed her help in this matter. Yara strode confidently up to the tangle of mixed mechanical parts and indicated the armor with a flourish.

“We’re willing to part with this for the right price.”

The merchant was an alien she didn’t recognize, which meant she couldn’t rely on body language, and the translator didn’t give much help with pitch either. But the vendor couldn’t interpret her tells either. Excellent. We’re on equal footing. Haggling like professionals, they went back and forth for a while.

“Look at this damage! I’ll be lucky to break even once I complete the repairs.”

“Nonsense. This is top-notch tech, and even if you sold it for parts, you’d get at least twice your credits back,” Yara countered.

Eventually, the trader made an offer that sounded fair, if not generous, and she tipped her head at Oren, indicating that he ought to accept it. Once the credits registered in his account, she led him away, leaving the merchant to inspect his purchase.

“We shouldn’t linger,” she whispered.

When the vendor found the bounty hunter guild insignia that they’d tried to scrape away, he’d be beyond infuriated. Everything would escalate. Thankfully, they got out of the building, and Yara grabbed Oren’s arm. To her surprise, he guided her toward a chemical heater, set beneath the overhang on a nearby structure.

“You handled the exchange expertly,” he said quietly.

“Does that mean my gambit worked?”

“As a mating ritual? It would be dishonest of me to agree because, in truth, I wanted to do it again as soon as we stopped. I enjoyed nesting with you, and I…missed you as soon as you left my quarters. No inducements are required to make me wish for a repeat, tiny nightmare. In fact, I fear becoming addicted to you.”

Oh. Wow.

Those words, spoken in his ridiculously low voice, edged with the growl she loved, were so hot that she felt it, to the point that she got squirmy in her thermal suit. Why the hell am I wearing this helmet? I need to lick him. He likes the licking. But if she took it off, her tongue would probably freeze. Try explaining that to Mom. Yeah, okay, I did lick the alien in subzero temps, and now my tongue is a meatsicle, stuck to the side of his face. She shook her head, already picturing the embarrassment.

Fine, I’ll wait for a better time. I’ll use my words too. See how he likes it.

“Maybe the meaning still didn’t come across. I was trying to explain the concept of a date. Which is more than a mating ritual. It’s also…” She paused, trying to pick a word the translator would recognize. “Courtship. Among my people, we often bond in pairs, and spending time together brings us closer. I’m glad you said that about missing me, because for me, this isn’t only about sex, though that was smoking hot. I…feel all kinds of things for you. In my heart.”

Please let that translate. Don’t let it tell him some bizarre stuff about human anatomy and my physical heart. There was a long silence, and Yara curled her hands into fists, that same heart beating until she could hardly hear Oren’s soft response.

“I’m not certain I understood all of that, but it seems clear that you’re emotional about me.” To her surprise, he took her hand, pressed it to his chest, and then slid it to the center. “My insides are…unsettled too. I don’t know what this feeling is. There’s been nothing like it before, not even…” He trailed off. “Is it enough that I’m confused and enthralled? You are so warm that I would like to bask in you as if you were the sun itself.”

Yara didn’t think he only meant her physical body temperature. She pressed herself close, snuggling into him to share that heat. The chemical heater warmed her back, and for a moment, she forgot all the danger of the guild, everything at risk.

“It’s enough,” she whispered. “For me, you will always, always be enough.”

[  14  ]

OREN STRUGGLED TO IDENTIFY THE sensation burgeoning within him.

It was something like pleasure but deeper and less fleeting. And more importantly, it wasn’t…physical. An ache sprung up, entirely unfamiliar, and he curved himself around Yara, glorying in the warmth she exuded, a heat far beyond the flesh of their adjacent forms. He had no words for how she made him feel, and sometimes it seemed as if she might scoop out his insides and carry them off, leaving him hollow.

I ought to fear her.

Despite her lack of natural weapons, she could be dangerous to him. He sensed it instinctively, but he couldn’t force himself to let go of her. In fact, the idea of parting from her sent a shudder through him. To the bottom of his being, he was a hunter, and he had claimed her. He would destroy anyone who attempted to get between them. That conviction wasn’t born of angry retaliation but from an icy certainty.

“You say these things and make me ache,” he said, so softly that she might not hear him over the howl of the wind.

But she did, judging by the way she raised her helmeted head. The sooner they left Renzo, the better, for he was starting to miss the mobility of her funny little face and reading her moods from the minute shifts in her smell. Thermal suits hid all those truths from him, and he… resented it. A lot. He’d become accustomed to tasting the sweetness of her scent in the air be breathed. Renzo offered only cold and nothingness, a wretched exchange.

Just then, Gail appeared laden with supplies. He hurried toward her with the hover cart and helped load it up.

“Finished already?” Yara asked.

Gail gestured toward the distant transport. “I’m ready to go.”

They boarded the vehicle with the tech Gail had acquired, and Oren signaled their destination. Into the silence, he said, “That went much smoother than I feared.”

“Excrement,” said Yara.

From the tone of her exclamation, he sensed that he’d committed a major misstep. “Something troubles you?” he asked.

“You just challenged the universe,” Gail declared.

Yara tilted her head, though the helmet concealed her features. “Facts. Whenever you say ‘that was easy’ or ‘good thing the weather is nice,’ it’s asking for trouble.”

“Is this part of your culture?” Oren inquired, baffled but trying to understand the logic behind their unease.

“You’ll see,” Gail muttered.

The transport stopped in the same spot, a path worn from its continual journey between the landing zone and the settlement. Oren leaped out first and assisted the other two, then he programmed the hover cart. The cart headed for the ship, but before he could follow, lights blazed above them in the sky, and a barrage of missiles whistled toward them.

Yara shouted something that didn’t translate as she dove under the transport. It wasn’t far to the ship, but that distance might be more than she could survive with her soft skin. His situation wasn’t ideal either, as he had only small, concealed weapons, ones he’d been sure wouldn’t set off any sensors. Oren had hoped they could slide in and out without causing problems or drawing attention. And it had been fine at the trading post, but now—

How did the guild find us so fast?

The question burned in his mind, but he couldn’t take the time to answer it, not with the ship’s weapons strafing their position. At that moment, he made a snap decision. He could’ve sprinted to safety on his own; he was fast enough. Instead, he slid under the transport as well, opting to stay and protect Yara.

Clearly, Gail had been in hostile situations before because she was using the hover cart as cover, hastening after it. As she was about to board their ship, she appeared to notice that Yara and Oren weren’t with her. Though he couldn’t see her face, when she took two steps back toward them, he understood how much Gail cherished her offspring. Enough to die for Yara, despite having no clear plan to save her.

“Don’t,” he shouted, hoping she could hear him above the shots slamming into the ground nearby, churning up the snow and shards of ice. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“Promise?” Gail called. “If Yara—”

“I will guard her with my life.” That was the most serious vow he’d ever made.

Gail must’ve believed him because she ducked into the hatch ahead of the hover cart, which somehow hadn’t been detonated by the massive airstrike. That tech must be blessed or beloved by the spirits.

“This situation is not ideal,” he said.

Yara startled him by making the sound that she’d said denoted amusement. “What was your first clue?”

Before he could respond, their ship went weapons hot, firing on the vessel that had them pinned. Even at this distance, he recognized guild technology. This hunter would be one of the best they had to offer, someone desperate and hungry, eager to make a name by claiming the honor of killing Toth Krag. Odd how distant he already felt from that name and that life. Or maybe the young hunter was using this as an audition to take on the role. It sounded like a challenge the guild leaders would appreciate.

The one who defeats Krag becomes Krag.

Regardless, even if he perished on this spirits-forsaken stretch of glacier, he had no regrets. He didn’t wish he’d chosen to turn Yara Duncan over to the Marjan Collective instead.

My life began when we met. That’s not something I could ever regret. I chose her then. I’d always choose her.

“You find entertainment in near-death experiences?” he asked then.

“Not exactly. It’s more like…I believe everything will be okay. Because I’m with you, and I have this inexplicable conviction that you’ll protect me, no matter what.”

His whole body tingled with the profound gift of her faith. She might not realize it, but proclaiming confidence in his hunting prowess? There could be no greater compliment. If she said there was no prey he couldn’t conquer, he might destroy a star with that rush of satisfaction.

Time to focus.

“WU-T2 has gotten their attention. None of my weapons will suffice, so we need to run. Are you ready?” Oren reached for her, and she latched onto him with a trust that felt…he had no words, as no being had ever relied on him like this.

With her, the whole world is new.

Together, they rolled out from under the vehicle, and he sprinted at top speed, shoving her ahead of him. He tried to stay out of the line of fire, and for the most part, he succeeded, though his ship was being bombarded. When a focused burst slammed into the ground behind them, ice shrapnel exploded, shards digging deep into his back. Oren kept silent, concentrating on closing the distance to the hatch. It opened as they raced up, and he pushed Yara to safety. The shields shimmered on taking another hit.

He was already giving orders despite the white-hot blaze on his dorsal side. “Get us in the air, WU-T2.”

“I’m hacking their shields,” Gail said. “Just a little longer…” She was crouched, working on her terminal furiously. “Now. Fire now!”

WU-T2 took advantage of the lapse. Only a droid could activate the laser array and fire the engines to full burn simultaneously. As their vessel took off, the guild ship went up in a cascade of smoke and sparks. It slammed into the ground transport, and the two exploded, sending a fireball up that lifted their ship farther. Soon, their trajectory steadied, and they navigated the treacherous burn up through the stratosphere and into the quiet glide of orbit.

“You’re hurt again,” Yara said.

Oren had no idea how bad it was. He leaned against the cool metal of the ship’s hatch, quivering with reaction. Not because he’d been injured, but because she might’ve been.

I can’t lose her.

The mere thought of it filled him with rage that could level a mountain range. He wanted to detonate every guild outpost—burn the bounty hunters chasing them who, until recently, had been his peers. Immolate them until nothing was left but ash. He could envision the violence with exquisite precision, born of a lifetime spent walking in the shadow of death and bathing in blood. Oren would eradicate the guild if they threatened her again, wipe them from existence.

Breathing fast, he tried to reel his anger in. It’s too much. I shouldn’t feel like this. But he couldn’t stop. The thought came unbidden.

Yara Duncan is mine. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take her from me.

YARA WATCHED OREN WITH CONCERN, sensing that he was struggling.

She let him breathe, pulling off her helmet to suck in a grateful breath of warm, if sanitized, ship air. In time, he removed his helmet as well and turned to face her. She didn’t know if she ought to comfort him, but instinct guided her to set a hand on his jaw, the spot she knew he enjoyed her touch. He nuzzled into her palm with a flutter of his eyelids. She couldn’t tell if his stress came from emotional upset or physical pain.

“Are you harmed, tiny nightmare?”

She shook her head. “Not even slightly…you, on the other hand. Stop getting hurt over me. It’s giving me a complex. Hell, your other wounds aren’t even healed yet—”

“I’m used to pain,” Oren said, deep and low. “If I can bleed for you, I will. Always. I would rather not see the color that runs in your veins or add marks to your skin that weren’t chosen freely by your design.”

Okay, how am I supposed to respond to something that amazing?

Her heart melted, just a hot and gooey mess all over her insides. It was ridiculous how he could say stuff like this and sound so fucking sincere that she believed him.

It helped that his actions backed up his words. He didn’t talk a big game; he literally put himself between her and heavy weapons every fucking time. That was some next-level devotion, the kind of courage she’d never imagined would be aimed in her direction.

“Let’s patch up your wounds,” she said finally. “This is becoming a habit, damn it.”

They headed to his quarters, skirting the CIC. Just as well, because she wasn’t ready to talk to anyone yet. The heist could wait a little longer.

“It’s considered quite an honor on Lloshaa,” he confided.

“Taking wounds for someone else?”

“Not exactly. More, the trust involved? You believed me when I promised to keep you safe, and you took no risks, walked where I bid. Your actions proclaimed your belief in my worth as a warrior.”

That didn’t sound like a big deal at all, more like common sense. “And that’s important?”

“It’s the primary marker for our hierarchy,” he said.

Whatever that means.

“I’ve been a solitary hunter for most of my life,” Oren went on. “But now, I have someone to protect.”

“I appreciate it. Trust me, I’m aware how useless I am in those situations. I wish—”

“You’re not,” he cut in. “Your value has nothing to do with your martial prowess. You give me purpose, Yara Duncan. Without you, I’m empty, a weapon to be used and discarded. Besides, I find that our skills are complementary. Do you judge me without merit because I cannot bargain with merchants?”

The smile started deep inside her, blooming so fiercely that it took her by surprise, fully creasing her cheeks. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’re perfect together.”

“We are,” he agreed.

She grabbed the first aid kit, still in his room from the last time. “Would you take off the suit? I need to play doctor.”

The translator would probably make that weird somehow, but surprisingly, Oren didn’t react. So maybe not. He stripped off the damaged thermal protection. His back was a freaking mess, but at least the ice had melted, so there were no slivers to dig out of his torn flesh. She cleaned the wounds, applied the healing jelly, then sprayed a layer of sealant over the top, forming a protective barrier. It was sticky like webbing—closest thing she could come up with in Earth terms was rubber cement. This stuff slowly hardened into shellac that worked as an analgesic and would gradually be absorbed by his skin as the injuries healed.

“It feels as if you did excellent work,” Oren said, swiveling his head at an inhuman angle.

He might even be able to see how it looks, hard to tell.

Sometimes, she almost forgot. Almost. That he wasn’t human. She’d never been into appearances anyway, so the aesthetic didn’t matter. But then, he’d move or twist in ways that her body didn’t, and—

Yeah. This is freaking wild.

“I like taking care of you,” she whispered.

More than like. Like was a noncommittal word, really. Like was for lazy mornings, crossword puzzles, and farmer’s markets. What Yara felt for Oren was something else, something wild and obsessive that called to mind global warming and continents on fire.

Really, I need to pump the brakes. She paused, but the emotions churning within her didn’t recede. Fuck it, never mind, this ship sails itself. Well. WU-T2 handles it. Close enough.

“I would allow no one else to tend to me,” he said somberly.

Hell, that shouldn’t be so sexy, but here she was, rolling around in ridiculous bliss. Like, she was full-on honored because he didn’t want anyone else touching him.

“That’s so hot,” she whispered.

“In the sexually alluring sense?”

He remembers my slang. She squirmed a little, joy sparking up within her like tiny firecrackers. Her heart pattered in time.

“Yes. Definitely.”

Despite Yara’s serious case of hormones, another thought tried desperately to get her attention. Two strikes, super freaking fast. It seemed unusual that the guild kept finding them…

It might seem like a non sequitur, but she had to ask. “You scanned and cleared all your tech, right? And now the armor is gone… are you sure there are no trackers on the ship?”

Oren canted his head. “I inspected everything thoroughly. WU-T2 as well.”

“Hmm.” He might take offense to this, but what the hell. “Did you scan yourself? They might’ve chipped you. People did that to pets back home.”

He snarled, visibly outraged. “Are you implying—”

“Of course not! But…it’s better to be safe.”

In response, Oren activated the scanner and stepped into the light beam. A red zone popped immediately on his upper spine. Holy shit. I was right.

As he cursed, she sprayed a numbing agent. Even so, it nearly killed her to dig that out of him, and he hissed when she showed him the scrap of tech, barely visible to the naked eye.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’ve been owned by them completely for so long.” Oren made a ferocious sound as he destroyed the tracker, a rattle deep in his throat. But soon, he gentled, turning to her with a softer aspect. “I’m more concerned about you.”

Gently he touched her shoulder, tugging her shirt aside to bare the mark he’d made with his teeth. It still looked clean, and the bite was nicely scabbed. Oren traced the pattern delicately, and a shiver rolled through her.

This…shouldn’t be sexy. Why is it?

But the rest of her body hadn’t gotten the memo because the quietly possessive touch had her sex drive on full-alert, ready for service, all hands on dick.

His impossible-to-read eyes settled on her face. “You’re responding to this.”

It wasn’t a question, so doubtless, he sensed that he was turning her on. Yara licked her lips, wondering if they had time to figure out what other fun stuff—

The door chimed. “We need to discuss our next move,” Mom called out.

Right. No sexytimes yet. Let’s plan a heist.

[  15  ]

THE OTHERS HAD BEEN ARGUING for a while.

This was the downside of belonging to a team, Oren thought. When he traveled alone, he instructed WU-T2, and the droid followed his directions. Clean. Elegant. Simple.

It had also been a path of shattering loneliness.

But he was rapidly losing patience with this circular conversation. The Greenspirit and the human male had been bickering nonstop, refusing to allow that other had a point. Yara and Gail weren’t saying much, only contributing when they were certain of their words. For obvious reasons, it was difficult to select a target because they needed a high-value product that wasn’t also impossible to transport and sell in the underground economy.

Durancz was obsessed with precious minerals, and they’d wasted far too much time eliminating that possibility, as making a getaway with such bulky cargo would prove challenging and making the sale afterward. Oren snapped his teeth in disapproval. But Bojak was no better. The human wanted to hijack a chem shipment from the Marjan Collective. Such a plan was beyond foolhardy, as even the guild hesitated about crossing them.

Which was why Oren had hunted down Yara Duncan in the first place. Under normal circumstances, a hunter of his caliber wouldn’t be dispatched over an unpaid debt. However, when the request came from the Marjan Collective, it was impossible to refuse without offending powerful parties, and the guild preferred staying on good terms with those clients.

“We’re not stealing from the Collective,” Yara said sharply. Bojak let out an unhappy sound as she went on, “And I don’t want to deal with chem, either. There has to be a solution.”

“If it was simple to score big, nobody would be in debt,” the Greenspirit sniped with a supercilious flutter of their fronds.

While Oren didn’t like their tone, he agreed with the sentiment, so he let it go. If Durancz chose to be condescending to Yara again, Oren would address it then. Firmly. He swiveled his head, drilling holes with his silent, predatory gaze until the Greenspirit shifted in discomfort.

The hunter kept staring.

Finally, Durancz said, “Spoke…abruptly. I’m worried.”

“We all are,” Gail responded. “And I’ve been thinking. What’s incredibly valuable, instantly transmittable, and in some ways, the most difficult to steal?”

“Water,” said Durancz at the same time Bojak asked, “Is this a riddle? I hate riddles.”

Unable to withstand the perplexity, he aimed an annoyed look at the Greenspirit, though he didn’t ask the most pressing question. How is water instantly transmittable? Is this some technology known only to their people? As Oren pondered, Gail shook her head, a gesture he had come to learn implied a negative while the woman watched her offspring with a hopeful expression. She wants Yara to guess.

Then his tiny nightmare brightened. Truly, she wore joy like a visible aura, a corona of light that flickered at the edges of his vision. Intrigued, he shifted spectrums, and then he could see the spilling waves of her excitement, electromagnetic and ephemeral at the same time.

Yara spoke softly. “Ideas. Information.”

“Exactly! There’s my little genius.” Gail squeezed Yara with both forelimbs.

“What are you suggesting?” Bojak asked.

In answer, Gail brought up a map on the holo. “According to some whispers I found in an extranet sublevel, ImTech has been working on a prototype weapon. We’re talking about planet-killing levels of destruction. They’ll be accepting offers soon, and it could change everything. If we got a hold of their plans…” She paused.

Oren suspected that Gail was assessing their reaction to the idea. “What are the obstacles?” he asked. “Wouldn’t this be a solitary task for suited one skilled hacker?”

“You’d think, but no. We can’t access their databases remotely. It has to be done on-site and their security is…substantial,” Gail said. “But with our current team, I think it’s possible. Have a look at what I put together.”

Yara showed her teeth, hurrying to her maternal figure’s side to examine the data. “While we were arguing?”

“I’m skilled at performing multiple tasks simultaneously,” Gail said.

After everyone perused the materials, Durancz asked, “We steal the plans, then what?”

“We could sell the data multiple times,” Bojak pointed out.

The suggestion set Oren on edge. He tilted his head, watching the human male with new alertness. It was neither honorable nor provident. “Such treachery would get us killed.”

Bojak moved his hands in a human gesture, a motion Oren found impossible to interpret. “I said we could, not that we should.”

He moved behind Yara because he wanted to be close to her and study the information Gail had collected in more detail, only the start of a plan, but it was more than they’d had. Yara didn’t seem sure, so he focused on her. Sometimes it felt as though she was the only one who mattered, as if no other voice could reach him. He perceived them, of course, but their words fell like withered leaves, unable to shift him from his path.

“Your thoughts?” he asked, regarding her steadily.

She wandered around the hub for a span without answering, then she finally said, “I don’t like the prospect of messing with weapons, but I don’t have a better solution. Looks like they’re planning to offload this gear to some loathsome warmongers, so if we steal the data, wipe their backups and run, we might be able to do some good, if we place the weapon in safer hands.”

A trill escaped him, so long silent that he’d forgotten he could make that sound. It was congruent to how Yara choke-grunted, a sound that communicated amusement. “You want us to commit the perfect crime, buy our freedom, and make the galaxy a better place?”

“Go big or go home,” Yara replied.

The others were still present, quibbling over the proper sequence of events, how the heist should proceed. WU-T2 whirred about augmenting information on the holo display with new threads of data he found. Gail interfaced with him, updating her dossier, but Oren could only gaze at Yara, struck silent by the bright boldness of her spirit. She might be small, but she was…indomitable.

“I have no home,” he replied.

It used to cut deep, knowing he could never return to Lloshaa, even if he paid off the debt he owed the guild. Now he only wished to remain with Yara.

To his surprise, she crossed to him and tucked herself against his side. “Your home is with me,” she said. “And mine is with you.” She stretched to make herself taller, as she did when she had a secret to impart, and Oren bowed his body toward her. She whispered, “Entreat me not to leave you, Or to turn back from following after you; For wherever you go, I will go; And wherever you lodge, I will lodge; Your people shall be my people.’” Yara regarded him expectantly. “Did it translate?”

“I believe so. Were those…vows?”

“Kind of. It’s from a religious text.”

For the first time, Oren wondered what gods humans worshiped. Did they have different ones like on Lloshaa? What were their sacred rites? He might indulge his curiosity later, query Yara about such matters. Suddenly, he hungered to learn everything he could about her and her culture, what had created someone so tender, capable of caring for a lost spirit like himself.

Belatedly, he realized she was still talking, “…and it’s not technically romantic, but it seemed to fit. I’d follow you into a black hole if you told me it was a portal.”

A chill crept over him, so strong it made him tremble. Her eyes had tiny stars in them, flecks of color that made him feel like he was falling as if he could feel the movement of the ship in his sinews. Everything spun around him. “You…would accompany me into the abyss?”

“Wow, that sounds dire. But…yes, I would. I can’t imagine—”

“Hello, yes, still trying to put together a plan here,” the human male cut in. “So could you focus on that for a bit? That’d be great, thanks.”

YARA GLARED AT BOJAK.

Odd, during her time at Volant’s, she’d missed having other humans around, but now both of them—including her mom—had interrupted an important moment. Hell, Mom was even full-on alien cock-blocking. And fine, it wasn’t that Yara disagreed with Bojak necessarily, but they could learn to read the freaking room. Sighing, she acknowledged the relevance of the interruption with a nod. But she didn’t move away from Oren.

She liked being close to him, feeling the light, quick way that he breathed, different from a human unless they’d been running.

Durancz fluttered their fronds. “Focusing on ImTech as the target, at least?”

“I like the idea,” Yara said slowly.

Gail canted her head. “But…?”

“Finding the right buyer is an issue. If we’re selling a weapons prototype, then whoever builds this thing, we’ll kind of be responsible for how they use it, you know?” Yara hoped Mom hadn’t changed during her sojourn in space to the point that she would disagree with Yara’s assessment.

“That’s true,” Gail said.

“There’s also the issue of docking privileges,” Oren pointed out. “WU-T2?”

“Only authorized agents are cleared to visit headquarters. All secure data is stored on-site with no external access,” the droid said.

Mom didn’t seem fazed by the daunting report. “I already knew that they can’t be hacked. This is a heist for a reason. We’ll have to forge credentials, get onto the station and find a way to the brain room.”

Yara devoutly hoped that was slang and that they wouldn’t actually be wiping information stored in some kind of freaky flesh drive. For once, she couldn’t make herself ask because sometimes the answers were just too damn weird.

“We can’t head for ImTech Station immediately,” Durancz said. “All the preparations must be perfect, or they’ll obliterate us on approach.”

“Agreed,” said Bojak.

The last few places they’d stopped at, well, the getaway sucked all kinds of ass, and Oren had been injured both times. He was still recovering, and anywhere was a damn risk when the guild and the Marjan Collective were chasing them. She bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. The others bickered, talking over each other, offering suggestions that nobody else agreed with. It got louder.

Finally, Oren boomed, “Silence!”

But he didn’t follow it up with any bright ideas. Seemed like he was tired of the bullshit. Into the quiet, Yara said hesitantly, “Uh. I don’t know if you’re willing to risk it, but I know who might hide us.”

Everyone turned to her expectantly. Or at least, she read that from Mom and Bojak. Oren and Durancz were tougher to scan, but that reaction made sense, right? She took a breath, hoping this gambit would pay off.

“We join Volant’s. The ship is big enough for ours to dock, and I doubt the Marjan Collective would expect them to hide me after they threw me under the bus.”

“I don’t understand,” Oren said. “You have clearly not been flattened by a transport.”

“Human slang. After they incurred a debt in my name and abandoned me.”

Durancz drifted to and fro, seeming to get nervy again. “Then I also fail to see why this is a wise maneuver. If they betrayed you once, they will again.”

“I don’t think so. They owe me now, and they know it. We just need a safe place to solidify our strategy, and if this works, I’m paying off their debt. Why wouldn’t they help?”

“It’s a risk,” Bojak said slowly. It doesn’t sound like he’s completely opposed. “What was your relationship like with the rest of the troupe?”

Quickly Yara summarized how well they’d gotten along, how Tu-san never treated her as a lesser being, despite her unofficial status. She told a few stories, and damn if it didn’t make her miss Farfi the Incredible Annelid. Gail was smiling when Yara finished.

“It sounds like you miss them,” Mom said.

There was no denying that. “They must feel horrible about what they did to me.”

“If they don’t,” Oren said, “I’ll ensure that they do. We can request sanctuary courteously. Should they decline or attempt any trickery, it will become a hostile encounter. You may not hold a grudge at their treachery, but if things had gone differently between us, you might be in the hands of the Marjan Collective.”

“She’d be in pieces,” Durancz corrected.

Gail let out a choked sound, and Yara broke from Oren’s side to race across the hub and hug her mother. “I’m okay. There’s no point in worrying about what might’ve happened, right?”

“You don’t get compound interest for borrowing trouble,” Gail said.

That was one of Mom’s favorite sayings when Yara was a kid, though she hadn’t understood at the time. She glanced at the rest of the team, stepping back from the hug when Mom seemed to calm down. “If someone has a better idea, I’m willing to listen.”

Nobody spoke, then Oren made the call. “WU-T2, locate Volant’s Fabulous Spectacle. Acquire tour schedules, performances, anything that may help us plot an intercept course. It would be best if we encounter them in deep space, well away from any potential complications.”

Since “complications” tended to explode in his vicinity, Yara heartily agreed with those instructions. “How long do you think it will be?”

“Analyzing data now,” the bot said.

Hell, she forgot how fast inorganics could work, processing at the speed of light. While Durancz floated around, muttering about how their fronds were going pale from stress, she contained her own desire to pace. Part of her dreaded confronting those who had betrayed her, then asking for refuge, but the rest of the team heartened her, especially Mom and Oren.

They have my back. It will be fine. Probably. What’s the saying, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

The holo map shifted, showing new coordinates and constellations. “The paths will intersect here in two cycles. Convergence fits requested parameters, as even signal buoys are distant in this sector.”

“Excellent. Set a course,” Oren instructed.

Bojak still didn’t seem convinced. He stared hard at Yara before shaking his head with a sigh. “Hope you know what you’re doing, kid.”

“She does,” Gail said firmly.

“Does Volant’s have adequate facilities for a Greenspirit?” Durancz asked.

“They do. You’ll love the garden. I spent some wonderful, peaceful moments there.”

While the Greenspirit might not have the best personality, she sympathized with them. They still hadn’t managed to set up the lights or the soil they required to rest and take proper nutrition, so it was no wonder Durancz was cranky. If Yara was denied food and sleep repeatedly, she’d be screaming her head off by now.

“That’s the best news I’ve had since we fled Erebus Station,” they muttered.

“I like it,” Gail said. “Hiding in plain sight. What’s that they say, always darkest beneath the lamppost? Only strategy more amusing would be shacking up at the bounty hunter guild.”

While Yara nodded in cheerful agreement, she hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake, trusting Tu-san and company not to turn them over to the collective immediately. If they put a foot wrong, Oren would absolutely make them pay.

But it might be too late.

[  16  ]

OREN STARED OUT THE VIEW screen.

The stars spread before him in a tapestry of darkness brightened by swirls of glittering ice. Different types of radiation created variant hues of light, and he studied the spectrum as the ship passed through a debris field. Judging by the destruction left behind, a hard-fought battle had occurred, leaving bits of wire and charred metal floating in the void. That was something he’d never considered as a hatchling on Lloshaa—that if one died alone in the abyss of space, what remained of that demise would drift for eternity if scavvers didn’t steal the wreckage.

In the distance, the starfield glimmered blue, twirling toward violet. It was all silence, a deadly sort of beauty that would freeze the flesh to his bones in an instant. No fiery explosions, but the danger of asphyxiation with ice slowly forming on his eyes. With effort, he drove away those melancholy thoughts as the ship flew onward, ever closer to the intercept point. WU-T2 circled behind him, beeping in a tuneful manner. Yara had been teaching WU-T2 about music, and now the droid was trying out new patterns to create a melody.

“Are there any ships in range?” he asked quietly.

WU-T2 paused, connecting to the ship’s sensors. “Negative.”

That was the correct answer, yet his skin prickled with unease. Nothing had happened so far to trigger such a response, so he had no explanation for this impression. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Yara’s judgment or her instincts, but there was tension he couldn’t pinpoint. Over the cycles, he had learned to trust his hunting prowess…and while there was no reason to imagine it was, he still felt as if they were moving into a trap.

Restless, he rechecked the tech, searching for trackers, and he scanned himself just to be certain. No sign of guild technology remained on the ship or his person.

If we make this rendezvous, we should be safe.

The uncertainty was undermining his composure, perhaps. Or it might be the close quarters. Indisputable, he was unaccustomed to spending so much time in proximity with others, let alone on a ship this size. He couldn’t tranq them when they grew wearisome either, at least according to Yara. Apparently, that would cross the boundary from rude to aggressive. In many ways, life was simpler when he traveled alone when he existed only to hunt and follow orders handed down by the guild.

Simpler, not better.

As if reinforcing that he’d made the right decision when he chose Yara Duncan as his priority, she slipped up behind him. Not stealthily like an enemy, but openly. He smelled her and heard her footfalls long before she reached his side. Oren proved his trust by not flinging her to the floor or preventing her rear approach. He waited to see what she would do. Oddly, she wound her limbs around him from behind, and he felt her head resting at the center of his back. It was a peculiar hold, one more suited to mating, and he admitted some curiosity as to what she might attempt, grappling him in such a fashion. Perhaps humans were more versatile and inventive than he’d envisioned.

“You seem thoughtful,” Yara said.

“Concerned about what lies ahead. We must survive multiple gauntlets before…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Before our future can truly begin. Whatever that might resemble or entail.

“That…is true.”

The way humans seemed to show affection through touch differed from what he remembered as a hatchling on Lloshaa. Bumps and nudges, rough tumbling—that had been more the way among a group of hunters. Oren wished to show Yara that he shared her…fondness, but other than mimicking her gestures, he remained uncertain about many cues. Am I meant to circle behind her and demonstrate that I can also grasp her from behind? It should not prove difficult.

I should ask.

Still, he felt incredibly foolish about the inquiry. “What is the purpose of this hold?”

“You don’t like it?” she asked.

“I am…perplexed.”

“I’m showing affection,” she explained. “Indicating a desire for closeness that surpasses the mating instinct.”

“Through touch, you reiterate your preference for me?” he said.

He felt her head move, an affirmative gesture. Human body language was relatively simple once he’d learned some basic gestures. They lacked some of the more sophisticated nuance, no special color spectrums or coded pheromone signals. It was a pity she couldn’t detect his olfactory secretions whenever she touched his facial glands. To another Lloshaan, it would be obvious that she’d opted to mark herself as his sexual partner with each touch.

“That’s a good way to summarize it.” Yara released her hold and moved so he could see her fully. “Is there a more Lloshaan way for me to show such things?”

“There is mating, and there is the chase.” He thought back. Though it had been many cycles, he dredged up one other memory. “When there is sufficient trust among those rearing young together, they will cohabitate and guard one another against external threats.”

“I’ll definitely sleep with you, but I’m not sure how much defending I can do.”

Oren regarded her soberly. “That is unnecessary. Your company is everything I require.”

“You say the best things.”

“And you are incomprehensibly complimentary at hearing a simple truth. Is it more customary to respond with deception among your people?”

Yara seemed to reflect on the question with more gravity than he expected. “Overall, I’d say that’s right. Back home, people hide their true feelings and try to pretend all is well even when it’s not.”

“Why?” he asked.

“An excellent question.” Before she could say more, WU-T2 interrupted with a shrill sound, and Oren turned toward the droid, who indicated the ship in the distance. It appeared to be a large vessel, imposing even at such a great distance. That should be Volant’s, if everything had gone to plan.

“Are we in range for direct communication?” he asked WU-T2.

“Soon.” And then, “Affirmative.”

“Contact them. Send the following message—”

As they reached communications range, they also entered weapons range. The other vessel opened fire.

“Boost shields, evasive maneuvers!” he ordered.

WU-T2 reacted with a droid’s instant reflexes, and the small, fast ship dropped. Yara stumbled, slamming into the wall as their ship tilted.

“What the copulation?” she yelped. “That’s not Volant’s, it can’t be. The Fabulous Spectacle doesn’t even have guns!”

“It’s an ambush,” Oren responded grimly.

No trackers. Not this time. This time they were waiting. His unease deepened, but for now, his energy would be better served focusing on the weapons being fired. He addressed the bot. “Attack pattern twelve. Keep us rolling.”

“Acknowledged,”

To Yara, he added, “Hold on. This…may become unpleasant.”

THE THING MOVIES DIDN’T EXPLAIN about space battles was how freaking queasy they could make an unwilling participant.

Yara had watched countless epic space fights with fast ships swooping around, dusting each other with brilliant shots, sparks flying, chunks being blown away, and all kinds of gorgeous special effects, like the Fourth of July in space or something, right? But she couldn’t remember any scenes where the so-called heroes got knocked around so much that their stomachs turned inside out, and they barfed all over the shiny metal space floor. So far, she was trying her best to avoid disgracing herself, but there was some wild shit going on with her inner ear, and the urge to heave only intensified as the ship spun again.

Holy shit, my kingdom for a Dramamine.

She left Oren handling the attack with WU-T2’s support and stumbled toward the CIC. Not far, nothing on the ship was far. But she needed to make sure Mom was safe. How many people could say they’d gone into a space battle with their mothers? If she thought fast talk could help in this situation, she’d already be on the comm, but whoever had been lying in wait on that enemy ship clearly didn’t have banter in mind.

The floor flipped again, dumping her sideways, and she cracked into the wall. From what she’d seen, the hunter ship was designed to be sleek and fast, not intended for pitched battles. She had all kinds of questions, but likely none would make sense as most of her “science fiction” knowledge was more technobabble from various shows that talked about neutrino fields and quasar cannons. Like, she might as well have gotten all her details from a junk science generator.

In Yara’s head, she should be sharp and useful and shout stuff like, “We need to increase the variance of the subatomic capacitor. Wait, that’ll never work. Let’s re-route power through the supercharged gamma-wave booster.”

Then they could argue for a while like innovative engineering geniuses. She imagined herself in a tight, stretchy, and oh-so-shiny jumpsuit, maybe with a lab coat over it. For science. “There’s a destabilization in the zirconium power drive, I’m telling you! That’s why we’re firing at seventy-five percent capacity!”

Her brain put Bojak in the scene for some reason. “You could not be more wrong. The argon flow is offline. We have to de-materialize the overheating ion amplifier.”

Another tumble knocked her down, breaking her immersion in the fantasy where she was helpful and not clinging to walls during a space fight while looking for her mother. Wow. I seriously need to acquire better skills. Even Mom contributes more to the team.

She stumbled into the hub—straight into a scene she couldn’t wrap her head around. Mom was on the floor, glaring at Bojak while Durancz cowered against the far wall, all their fronds trembling. At Yara’s entrance, Bojak shifted, letting her see the weapon he brandished with apparent ease.

“The problem with building an outlaw team,” he said, “is that nobody checks references. Not that I have any. See, every team I’ve ever been a part of is dead.”

Fuck. Me.

“You son of a bitch,” she breathed.

“Leave my mama out of this. It probably ain’t her fault. Or maybe it is.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Get on the ground, pretty thing. I’m planning to collect on both you and that dumb hunter.”

Why did I never notice the deadness in his look? The way he offers humor in place of honest emotion.

Mentally, she cursed herself. Interstellar survival was tricky enough without factoring for a betrayal like this. If I had superpowers, I’d totally make his head explode.

Gail glared at Bojak, her eyes practically spewing lasers. “You said you worked for the resistance! What happened to—”

The man twirled the laser pistol lazily like he really thought he was a badass space cowboy instead of a treacherous sack of shit. “Them suckers I was running with? Dead, most likely. I got a nice, fat payday when I turned in all the intel I collected on them. Pity that last AI got away…but I still got paid.”

“You’re no space cowboy, and I will never call you Maurice,” she said.

Bojak laughed, though he also switched the weapon to maximum laser capacity. “Cute. I might even miss your fast mouth a little bit.”

Gail scrambled a bit closer on her hands and knees, and he swung the gun toward her. “You’re anxious to let your kid watch you die? I’m fine with it, but it seems a mite cruel. Not that it’s kinder the other way.”

“You’re the reason the guild kept finding us so fast!” Yara accused, trying desperately to draw his attention back.

Not Mom. Don’t hurt her. I just found her again. Her stomach boiled with fear and nausea as she frantically sought a way out of this situation. It would fuck up the ship if Bojak opened fire wildly, maybe beyond repair.

Luckily, the asshole wanted to monologue a bit. More teeth flashed in that smile that now made her want to punch him in the face. Even the country accent seemed like a persona developed to put people off their guard. “No shit, Sherlock. Guild hunters are good, but they’re not that good. Turns out, old Toth Krag has a weak point, and it’s you. Your mama vouched for me, so he didn’t look too hard at anything I did on the ship. And you kept him sweet while I got the job done. If I was the sharing sort, I’d cut you in.”

“I will kill you,” Gail snarled.

“Not if I get there first,” Yara muttered.

“Big talk from women I’ve got face down on the floor.”

“This seems like a conversation that I don’t need to be part of,” Durancz tried. “There’s no bounty on me, so—”

Bojak glanced at the trap buster. “In fact, there is. Not large, but I might as well collect. And it’s dead or alive, too. Seems they can make all sorts of exotic products from Ulian extract.”

The Greenspirit emitted a sound that Yara could scarcely hear, so shrill it challenged human limits. All their fronds fluttered.

Just then, the ship rolled again, so suddenly that Bojak tumbled forward. Yara finally lost the battle between terror and sickness, and she barfed all over Bojak’s feet. He shouted, tried to leap back, and skidded in it. He went down hard, tumbling into the smeared puke, and dropped his weapon in horror. It skidded away over toward Durancz, who snatched it in a quivering frond. However, it didn’t look like they had the heart of a killer, and Gail held out an implacable hand. The Greenspirit surrendered the weapon as Yara crawled over, cringing over the mess she’d made, and freaking sat on his legs. Not glorious. Not an amazing fight. But Bojak showed no inclination to battle a woman covered in her own inner goo.

In fact, he started making retching noises. Oh please, no. No, no, no.

Gail shot him in the face before it could happen. No hesitation. No mercy.

Astonished, she watched as her mom took charge. “Durancz, help me get this trash to the airlock.” She touched the comm panel. “WU-T2, we need a cleaning bot in the hub as soon as possible. Yara, get to the hygiene facilities. I trust that Oren can get us away from the ship safely. Once everything is squared away, we’ll reconvene…and discuss.”

Holy shit.

She tried not to look at or smell herself while stumbling to the sanitation facilities, and it was maybe the most difficult thing she’d ever done to get clean while the ship was still rocking like they were about to capsize in the space ocean. But she fucking got it done, trying not to think about what life must’ve been like for Mom all these years—that she didn’t even hesitate. In the years she’d been parted from Yara, her mother had become a certified badass.

God, I love her. She saved us while Oren played his part.

At least I was more useful than Durancz. Puking might not be a textbook self-defense maneuver, but Bojak sure didn’t seem to want to fight me afterward. She could almost laugh about it. Almost. And hell, maybe I took a page from the sea cucumber book. I shot my innards as a weapon, dammit.

Eventually, she finished decontaminating herself and found something fresh to wear. The ship’s motions settled, which she trusted meant they were out of danger. But the delay probably indicated that they wouldn’t be able to catch up to Volant’s on this trajectory. Dammit. Fucking Bojak, I’m glad he’s dead.

When she returned to the CIC, she found it spotless, no sign of the corpse or the mess she’d made. Even the smell was gone. Thank heavens for science and disinfectant. Honestly, she hadn’t even known they had a cleaning bot on board, which proved that Mom paid much more attention since Yara had been on Oren’s ship longer.

Gail hugged her tight, rubbing her back gently. “I’m so sorry you had to see that side of me, Yara-bean. I’ve done some things—”

“You’re awesome!” she assured her mom.

“Yeah?” Mom looked like she wanted to believe it, but she probably grasped that it was a big leap from the woman who used to build websites to this one, the intrepid space hacker who didn’t hesitate over pulling the trigger.

It doesn’t matter what kind of person you’ve become. You’re still my mom.

Oddly, it was Durancz who chimed in with, “Definitely,” to set Gail’s mind at ease.

Fast as lightning, Oren strode to them and pulled Yara out of her mother’s arms, surveying her with ferocious concentration. “You are unharmed?”

She nodded. “Thankfully, yes.”

“I wish Gail had been less efficient, for I would have made him suffer before granting him the sweet release of death. He dares to attack my person?” Oren made a bloodcurdling noise, one that sounded like incipient murder.

“Sorry, I’m not—”

“No apologies, tiny nightmare. Like the cleverest of opponents, you weaponized your weakness. Most cunning, I approve.”

Well, that’s one way of looking at it. She smiled slightly. Still glad Oren didn’t see that.

Durancz said tentatively, “Hate to interrupt, but the demolitions expert turned traitor, then got vented into deep space. With us still being hunted…” The Greenspirit rustled with unease. “Let’s call the whole thing off.”

[  17  ]

THE SITUATION WAS BECOMING UNTENABLE.

As he listened in silence, Oren couldn’t dispute the Greenspirit’s assessment. He’d failed to identify the traitor in their ranks until it was nearly too late. He aimed a weapon at Yara. Wrath simmered in his skull, tingeing everything with the color of violence. He deeply regretted that Gail had been so efficient because punishment should be commensurate with the crime, and to him, there was no greater trespass than threatening Yara Duncan.

My tiny nightmare.

Seeing no counter to their statement, Durancz went on, listing the problems they perceived. “Missing demo expert. No sanctuary with Volant’s possible, low on fuel, Again. Aside—might even end up adrift? Need to calculate odds. Still have no plan for acquiring docking privileges at ImTech. Conclusion? Mission no longer viable. Truly appreciate the rescue, now prefer to travel to the nearest populated world. Will fend for myself.”

“Forget that!” Yara snapped.

He focused on her instead of the Greenspirit’s complaints, as did Gail. While Yara paused, she didn’t back down. Instead, she moved forward and commanded attention, like the leader Oren was failing to be. When she seemed to feel assured that everyone was listening, she continued, “Yes, we’ve had some setbacks. No plan is perfect. But if we give up, nothing changes. You’ll go back to running, and what happens when they catch you?”

Judging by Durancz’s shiver, they didn’t care to analyze those possibilities. “Salient point. Doesn’t solve our dilemma.”

“We need to decompress,” Gail cut in. “Everyone is feeling tense. I’m kicking myself because I spoke up for that _____ even though I hardly knew him. I just…I don’t know. I thought humans should stick together. There are so few of us out here…”

Yara went to her maternal figure and used physical touch to console her. Now that Oren was watching her offer such solace, he understood better how it was meant to transpire. Gail grappled Yara in return, but gently, so they shared warmth without escalating to an altercation. In Lloshaan culture, there was little occasion for softness. Even casual contact was more likely framed in a wrestle or a rough and tumble comparison of skills.

Life must be easier for humans if they had time to develop such nuances.

“There is no need for self-recrimination. I did not safeguard the ship,” Oren said.

“How about we blame the person who betrayed us?” Yara suggested.

Some of Durancz’s fronds stilled, demonstrating a calmer state. “Eloquent. Appreciate efficiency. Still haven’t solved anything, will defer to Gail and agree to belay my request to dissolve our partnership. Still—”

“You haven’t been able to rest,” Yara said softly.

The Greenspirit settled visibly, responding to the concern in her tone. “Indisputable.”

She added, “I may have worked out a solution, using supplies on board. Do you want to come with me and give it a try?”

The Greenspirit followed Oren’s tiny nightmare with evident alacrity. She truly did have a remarkable gift for soothing the spirit. It was…priceless. Gail stayed with him in the hub, and while he might expect her to show some regret or shock, she displayed none of those signs. Her composure made him curious, but her scent indicated wariness. She must know of his intimate involvement with her offspring—and yet, she hadn’t broached the subject.

“WU-T2 showed me the holo,” he said then. “You did not hesitate.”

“Is that a problem?” She folded her forelimbs as if to ward off an attack.

“Only if you intend to war with me at some future interval.”

There was a pause. “That depends on how you treat my child. It’s been impossible for me not to notice that there’s something between you, so I must ask.”

“What?” he prompted.

“Your intentions.”

Oren couldn’t interpret those two words, though he understood their meaning. “In what regard? Toward Yara Duncan? Or my life’s path in general.”

“Toward Yara, though if you want to talk about how you see things developing, once we succeed at ImTech, I wouldn’t mind hearing that too.” Gail’s pheromones gave little away, unlike Yara, who was as familiar to Oren as the swamps of Lloshaa had once been.

“I have given her my life,” he said. “She has promised to follow me. I do not remember the religious text that she quoted, but I believe it to be sacred. Suffice to say, there are promises between us, ones I do not take lightly.”

Gail tilted her head, and her scent brightened. She must be pleased with his reply. Then she said, “You’re serious, that’s good. I won’t have to hurt you. Since I was taken, I’ve done things that I’d rather Yara didn’t know about, though I showed her some of it today. Just understand that I’m more dangerous than you realize, and if you harm her…”

“I’d rather die. Without her, I have no direction. No home. I am a weapon, but she does not wish to wield me. No, she cares for me. With her, I will become complete, a fully-realized being capable of creating more than death and destruction.”

Gail inhaled softly, and her posture eased, one of her forelimbs pressing to her torso in a gesture unknown to him. “I’ve seen how you protect her, and now I understand why.”

“Is that all? If you found my answers satisfactory, I would like to go to her.”

“You have my blessing,” Gail said, showing teeth.

The pronouncement felt particularly weighted, though he couldn’t identify the reason behind that impression. Dealing with humans carried so much subtlety; their bodies didn’t do the work, so the words acted as a universal glue, filling gaps that other beings wouldn’t even notice because of a more complex communicative system that incorporated colors, odors, and more.

He found Yara finishing up with the Greenspirit. In the time he’d been conversing with Gail, his resourceful little nightmare had rigged a hydroponic solution, and Durancz fluttered with relief, dipping their roots and practically melting at the immersion. The trap buster reclined against the wall, fluting in obvious enjoyment, and it seemed likely that they’d remain this way for a long while.

When Yara turned to Oren, he reacted in a manner she seemed to enjoy and physically collected her, transporting her to his quarters without a word. Since she offered no resistance, she must prefer this mode of transit. A Lloshaan would fight being captured, thus beginning the mating chase, but Yara offered no such challenge. Perhaps she was demonstrating trust by offering herself freely? This is a statement that she is mine to seize at any time., perhaps. He couldn’t claim to understand her ways, but on some level, he found everything about her…charming—even her most unusual defensive mechanisms.

WU-T2 was waiting in his quarters when they arrived. Oren set Yara down then turned to the droid. “Direct your processors toward solving our docking privilege problem. And watch Durancz. We missed signs of treachery with the human. No more mistakes.”

“Acknowledged,” said the bot. “Permission to investigate unorthodox angles?”

“Absolutely,” Yara answered.

What does a droid like WU-T2 consider “unorthodox”?

But he validated her statement. “Agreed. Do whatever it takes, even if there’s risk involved. We cannot continue as we are. Time is not our ally.”

“Marking task as urgent.” WU-T2 whirred toward the door. “Anything more?”

“No entry to my quarters, unless it’s an emergency. No interruptions.”

WHEN YARA HEARD THAT, A small spark zipped through her.

Probably it wasn’t time to settle in for an alien sex-a-thon, but part of her wished they could be irresponsible. She also had several questions about how Oren just…carted her off when he wanted her undivided attention. Right now, she found it funny, but she could imagine how it might become inconvenient down the line.

“You wanted to get me alone?” she teased.

How much of my sense of humor comes across?

“Yes.”

“Okay, you have to give me more than that, babe. What’s on your mind?” Hopefully, he didn’t want to analyze how she could’ve “weaponized her weakness” more effectively because she’d prefer to pretend that didn’t happen. And never speak of it again.

“Why are you calling me an infant?”

Oh. Right.

“It’s endearment, probably not one of the better ones. Do your people have special words they use for those you feel close to?” This was a digression, but she was curious.

“We have discussed this before. I thought you had settled on calling me ‘hot spark,’ and I will refer to you as ‘tiny nightmare.’”

Despite the grievous mess they were in, Yara laughed. Even when Oren didn’t mean to be funny, he busted her up. “Right you are. Sorry, hot stuff. I won’t forget the important details again. Now what did you want to talk about?”

He made a low sound, one unfamiliar to her. “My myriad failures.”

Wow, he’s taking this hard.

“We all messed up,” she said, trying to console him. “Mom’s feeling pretty cruddy right now too, but I still maintain—”

“Will you console me in the human style?” he cut in.

What’s the human style?

She was about to ask, and then she recalled his avid attention when she was hugging her mom. Oh my God, is he seriously asking for a hug? This is maybe the cutest thing ever. My big tough alien bounty hunter, asking for a cuddle.

“Just try and stop me.” She strode over and wrapped her arms around him firmly, rubbing his back gently.

When they were pressed close like this, she could feel all the differences in their bodies, but it didn’t put her off. Hell, she was even getting used to his face. And his eyes…they stayed locked on her upturned features, scanning her like he would recall everything about her for a thousand lifetimes. Back in the day, I thought I wanted a chill and easygoing partner. Who knew I’d melt for someone so intense?

He quivered delicately when her nails scraped upward over his skin. “That feels good.”

Yara felt the low note deep inside her, and neither of them was even trying to be sexual. But hell, when the chemistry was right, ignition was a natural reaction. Hope we don’t burn the place down.

“It doesn’t tickle?” Scratch that off my question list.

He didn’t seem to know what the last word meant, and he distracted her by completing the embrace, so tentative in his motions that she smiled. “Like this?” he asked.

“You got it,” she encouraged him.

“It doesn’t hurt you?”

“Not at all, you’re being so careful. Do you want to take this to the next level?” Hopefully, that would translate without any weirdness.

Apparently, it did because Oren said, “I do, yes.”

“Then take a seat and we’ll try advanced snuggling.”

He arranged himself on the floor in a position similar to what a human could manage, though his legs bent differently. She set herself on his lap and wrapped her arm around him, careful with the webbing beneath his arms. Since it didn’t seem like they cuddled much on Lloshaa, she was playing this by ear, but most beings liked head rubs, right?

Let’s find out.

While he struggled to work out the best way to respond to her sudden perch atop him, she stroked his jaw, prompting a pleasure sound. A good start. From there, she petted upward until she was gently circling her fingertips against his cranial ridges. The sound intensified into a trill, and she sensed the tension easing from his body. His muscles were too dense to soften, but the shift in posture spoke volumes. He curved his body around her, offering better access to his head.

“Is this another human tradition?”

“That might be a strong word for it. More like, it’s what we do for someone we care about when they feel bad.” Using simple words made her feel basic, but it was also the best way to ensure that the translator would convey the gist. “When we’re struggling with a problem, it’s like…your brain hurts, right? And this makes you feel better. On multiple levels.”

He nudged into her hand, asking to be petted in a slightly different spot. “It is an effective treatment. I could bask in this sensation all day. Your touch is better than sunlight.”

“Wow,” she breathed.

“What?”

“You don’t skimp on the compliments, once you get going.”

“Again, with this insistence that truth is praise.” But he didn’t sound irritated.

Rather, his eyes had closed, and he rolled his head from side to side, giving her the complete freedom to touch him in any way she desired. The sharpest, brightest feeling rose inside her, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Oren’s eyes snapped open.

“That… is different,” he said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

“Uh, different-bad?”

“No. But it feels more intimate than the other touches.”

That was an astute conclusion. “Kisses are more intimate,” she agreed, recalling that he’d been ambivalent about her lips. But possibly, they felt better on the top of his head than they had pressed against what passed for his mouth. “Did you like it?”

He paused. “Yes. But it made me think of how we tasted one another, and those thoughts are not conducive to peaceful consolation. It feels like an overture.”

“An overture?”

“A prelude to mating.”

“I wasn’t trying to…entice you, if that’s the issue. I am trying to distract you from feeling like crap about what happened earlier. Sometimes, we just need a break. Not to think. Not to worry. I want to be that quiet, safe place for you.”

“You are more than that,” he said, rubbing his jaw against her. “You are every safe place. There is no shelter for me without you, no sky that could content me. I am yours, Yara Duncan.”

[  18  ]

“EXCELLENT. I’M KEEPING YOU.”

Those four simple words burned into Oren like a laser, but unlike a physical blast, they wouldn’t leave a mark. He had scars all over his body, injuries taken as he trained, and later hunted for the guild. If Yara later proved false, despair would mark him inwardly, possibly so deeply that he might never be whole again. He hadn’t known how much he wished to hear such a thing. Odd that a possessive statement would affect him this way, but it made him feel as he hadn’t since he was taken from Lloshaa.

I belong to her. I belong.

Though he didn’t respond aloud, he gazed at the riotous fur that veiled her face and slowly worked through it, restoring order as best he could in gentle motions. You are my home, Yara Duncan. I do not need walls or a ceiling. Only you.

“I fear failing you,” he confessed. “As I failed another.”

“Did something happen?”

“There was one at the guild who favored me. Tried to get to know me, despite my best efforts. I…became fond of this Barathi.”

“Why do I think it ended badly?” she whispered.

“You are astute. Mondaj was executed for trying to check into my debts, for wishing to help me. I wasn’t even on station at the time, and I arrived far too late. Because of me—”

“Oren, no. What happened is tragic, but it’s not your fault.” She pressed her lips to the top of his head, letting him soak in that softness and warmth.

He couldn’t believe he’d shared so much with her. Such a festering wound felt like it had been lanced at last.

At some point, he must have yielded to sleep, for he roused still entwined with her. His limbs were numb from her weight, yet he couldn’t bear to move. Oren listened to the soft rasp of her breathing, her body lax and warm against him. Even under presumably safe conditions, no Lloshaan would ever lower their guard to this disagree.

But I did.

Belatedly, he realized that this was the most rested he’d ever felt. With the door secured and WU-T2 standing watch, while working on their problem, he’d given himself completely over with no fear whatsoever that Yara would turn on him. Oren couldn’t say he’d ever trusted another being so deeply before. An unsettling softness warmed him from within, most unlike the intensity that gathered when he experienced the urge to mate. This was…something else, a feeling for which he had no comparison, perhaps one too deep for him to name.

Oren nuzzled his jaw against her head fur, slowly, back and forth, until her eyes opened. Those tiny stars he’d admired before, the swirls of color practically hypnotized him. He wondered how she felt about his facial configuration for the first time. It must look every bit as strange to her as hers did to him. Yet there was hidden beauty too, like her soft, warm tongue that felt most unexpected when she used it in inventive ways.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

“I am. Did you rest well?”

Her lips curved. Oren enjoyed categorizing each small shift in her expression and puzzling out what they meant. After sleep, her scent held a hint of musk, along with other secretions that created a fascinating ripeness, as if humans became more alluring over time. When Yara used the hygiene facilities, she demonstrated a strange fixation with removing all traces of her natural aroma. To deter predators? In the wild, such measures made sense, as the Lloshaan used mud and moss to obscure their own traces in a similar way, but he couldn’t fathom why she wished to conceal her own sweetness when he had pledged to keep her safe.

“Sheer perfection.” She pressed her mouth to his jaw.

No matter how many times she did it, that never failed to rouse a shiver of reaction. Idly, he wondered there was time—

WU-T2 whirred and beeped outside the door. “I followed your instructions and I have acquired the solution to multiple problems. Discuss?”

“That’s our cue,” Yara said, crawling off him.

It took Oren longer to straighten himself out, as he’d lost all feeling in his lower limb. A price worth paying, certainly. While he stretched and maneuvered his body, she deactivated the privacy protocol, allowing the droid access. WU-T2 rolled in at once, ignoring everything but the mission Oren had assigned. Just as well, he didn’t want a bot who probed into unrelated matters.

“Solution—ping a low priority channel with an encrypted data packet. Our message was hidden in old machine code. Contents of message—a request for allies for a covert undertaking. Time elapsed. Just before I alerted you, I received a response.”

He had been listening without evincing a reaction, but that startled him. “What happened? Is ImTech hunting us as well?”

“Negative. The communication cannot be traced, as it was routed through multiple relays, and I collected the answering data packet from an AI-only remote host.”

In all honesty, Oren lacked the technical proficiency to validate whether those precautions were sufficient, but he did trust WU-T2’s loyalty. “And what was the answer?”

“Unknown. The layers of security are truly impressive. Our potential affiliate took no chances that their response would fall into the wrong hands.”

“How long will it take to decode?” Yara asked.

“An excellent inquiry. I intend to request assistance from Gail. If we use some of the ship’s processing power, it shouldn’t take too long,” WU-T2 said. “However, there is a related conundrum. I need input.”

Oren said, “Go ahead.”

“Diverting power to processing will reduce what is available in the fuel cells. Yet without the boost, we will not be able to advance in any regard. How shall we proceed?”

“Talk about a stone and a hard spot,” Yara muttered.

Oren glanced at her. What an apt saying. Humans had a pithy way of communicating, one he’d enjoy more when they weren’t so pressed. He contemplated quickly, then said, “Do it, WU-T2. Whatever it takes. If need be, we can make a fuel stop. I’d rather not…it would be better to jump straight for ImTech, but we’ll do as we must.”

“Acknowledged. Commencing operations now.” The droid rolled off, committed to the course Oren had specified.

I hope I chose correctly.

“You did the right thing,” Yara said as if she could read his inner turmoil. Perhaps she can. “Fortune favors the brave.”

He regarded her somberly. “Our options dwindle with the passage of time. If we cannot execute this daring plan, our enemies will surround us. And though I’ll fight for you, logical assessment forces me to admit that I cannot defeat the forces the guild will send on the next strike—to say nothing of the Marjan Collective. The odds are against us,” he added, battling a wave of despair so profound that he nearly bucked beneath the weight.

“Never tell me the odds,” Yara said, showing so many of her teeth that it felt vaguely menacing, even though she had explained that it meant something else.

To Oren, it seemed strange, showing teeth to demonstrate amusement. In most beings, it was a naked threat or a display of aggression.

“It seemed wiser to be realistic.”

She touched his face with delicious tenderness. He felt it from head to toe. “My whole life has been pretty absurd when you come down to it, like a festival of wildly implausible things happening, time and again. So why can’t luck fall on our side? It’ll break our way. Believe me. Believe in us.”

Oren had stopped trusting in divine spirits ages ago. Still, in Yara’s presence, he felt the echo, as he’d sometimes recognized on Lloshaa, such as when he stood in the shadow of some impossible ancient tree, overgrown with cycles and cycles of heavy vines. He knew that same reverence now as if she could save them through sheer will alone.

“As you follow me,” he said, “I will follow you. Our paths are one, until the end.”

I GOT TO QUOTE STAR Wars. And then Oren made me feel all gooey. Best day ever.

A bit later, it got better still when Mom came running, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We broke the code, and you’ll never guess what we found?”

She grabbed Mom’s hand, shooting a told you so look at Oren. “What? Tell me!”

“Docking codes. WU-T2 thinks they’re old, but they should still work. There’s also a time and place, I gather for a meeting. We’ll be able to meet up with the person who wants to help us and get more intel once we’re on station. The data packet even includes a plausible cover. We’re short-stay contractors doing some maintenance work.”

“Seems like someone on station wants to screw ImTech,” Yara mused.

“I suspect something was lost in translation,” Oren said, “for I fail to see how copulation has anything to do with—”

“Someone wants to do crime against them,” she tried.

“That makes more sense.”

Gail laughed. “Human slang is strange. I’ll work on the translator matrix again when I get time, add more of our custom words. For now, this is our priority. How’s our fuel holding up?”

“One jump,” said Durancz. “And we’d better make it precise, if we plan to limp to ImTech with what’s left in the cells.”

“Feeling better?” Yara asked.

The Greenspirit looked much perkier, brighter green, and no longer desiccated in their fronds. “Much, thank you for inquiring. Sharper mentally, prepared for anything. If we have docking codes, let’s not delay. No telling how long they’ll be good.”

“They have a point,” Gail said.

In response, Oren turned to WU-T2. “Excellent work, both of you. Make it happen. Get us close to ImTech but be precise about the calculations. There is no margin for error.”

“If I could be, I would be offended,” WU-T2 replied.

Oh my God, it’s finally happening. We’re doing a freaking space heist.

The time couldn’t go by fast enough, but physical travel didn’t occur instantaneously since they’d burned their last jump. In the meantime, Yara figured they needed to do some team building since things had been shaky since Bojak deadass tried to turn them all in for loot, so she suggested playing a game. Gail and WU-T2 cobbled together a workable solution out of random ship objects that would suffice as game pieces, and then Durancz spent forever asking about loopholes in the rules. But the distraction worked, lightening the mood and keeping everyone’s mind off it—until they arrived at ImTech.

And there it was, looming on the viewscreen—a large metal ring with one large sphere in the middle connected by a metallic passageway with scattered solar panels fitted densely on the top and bottom edges of rings that oscillated to face the sun during its orbit. The outer ring had several indents, presumably for docking.

Yara shivered, staring at this hulking beast. The metal was dark and dull, like a burned-out meteor, evoking a sense of oppressive efficiency with shocking minimalism. It was like they wanted contractors to be driven off—to spend as little time as possible before wanting to dip out. This structure was the most corporate miscreation Yara had ever seen, built for getting the job done in the most cost-effective way possible. Like a squatting spider with web-tubes running throughout, it allowed ships to dock, refuel, and with satellites that seemed to contain compact cabins for crews to catch some R&R, little room for anything else.

Upon closer inspection, the station’s outer hull was burnt and dented from repeated impacts of small space debris that ImTech wasn’t too worried about repairing. The edges of a few of the solar panels were chipped and cracked as well, showing the wear and tear of operation with minimal care. Yara could easily mistake this station for being abandoned if not for the dim lights that flickered across the ring, ghost lights, or space fireflies. They’re hiding their prosperity, so they won’t be targeted. Sparks flew from those flickering lights on the ring, drawing Yara’s eye to the broken materials floating around the station, shards of metal and scraps of synthetic added to the derelict air.

When their ship got within a certain range, the station powered up, ready to go hostile, but WU-T2 was already on it, transmitting the codes they’d gotten from the data packet. There was no margin for error. ImTech had a reputation for detonating every vessel that approached, and they only sent compensation half the time if they fired in error.

“Fingers crossed,” she mumbled.

Gail showed her right hand, with index and middle fingers overlapped. “On it.” She reached out and squeezed Yara’s hand with her left. “If we’re about to be vaporized, it was nice knowing all of you. And I’m beyond glad the universe brought me back to you, Yara-bean.”

Her throat felt tight, so she had to clear it before she could say, “Love you, Mom.”

A fond look from Gail, but nobody spoke. The tension was too thick to allow it. WU-T2 didn’t whir. Durancz didn’t flutter. Then, a beam shot out from somewhere deep within the terrifying metallic beast that was ImTech Station. She flinched. But it enveloped their little ship in light and did no damage. She swapped an incredulous but delighted look with Mom.

“They’re pulling us in,” Yara crowed.

Victory dance. She pulled out all her best club moves, twirling and dropping it to the floor, unable to believe they were still in it to win it. We got this, dream team right here. She spared a thought for Bojak, currently floating dead in space. If there’s such a thing as vacuum vultures, I hope he gets eaten by them. Earth science suggested that her wish was improbable, but hell, no scientist on Earth could’ve predicted the existence of Farfi the Incredible Annelid either. So Yara could dream.

“Do you require medical assistance?” the Greenspirit asked.

“Like your dancing’s any better,” she muttered. But if she let them provoke her, it would undo all the good of the silly game they’d played on the way. So she kept quiet and turned to Oren. “How’re you feeling?”

“Candidly?” he asked.

Yara nodded, though she couldn’t remember if he knew what that meant, so she added, “Always,” just in case.

The former bounty hunter kept his dark gaze trained on the terrifying station, growing ever closer and looming larger with each moment that the ship was sucked toward it. “I’m beyond shocked. Nothing about our journey has been sensible or plausible, and yet, here we are.”

“I’m telling you, luck loves me or she hates me, and it goes by turns. And right now, I’m on the upswing. Just need it to last long enough for us to score big.”

“All of that didn’t translate. But it seemed as if you’re implying that fortune is a sentient force, a fickle goddess, perhaps?” He turned to her, finally focusing on her instead of their imminent arrival.

“Some people believe that,” Yara said.

“Do you?”

Before she could answer, the aperture in the station wall opened, and the beam pulled them into a dinky little tunnel—dinky compared to the size of the rest of the station. The fact that this place was dedicated to designing and manufacturing weapons? Yeah, I don’t feel great about it. She felt even worse about the prospect of ImTech’s latest doomsday device—the one they’d come to steal—being mass-produced.

Finding the right buyer will not be easy.

The tractor beam deposited them in a small bay, and it seemed that everything was automated in the bowels of the station. Since they were a low-priority arrival, the equivalent of grunts come to clean mecha-toilets or whatever, that made sense. Whoever their unknown ally was, this was a good vector of approach. And since Oren had gotten rid of his armor, nothing about his appearance should set off red flags. After all, nobody knew him as Toth Krag outside the bounty hunter guild. And she suspected that they wouldn’t give up that information anytime soon. They probably still hoped to kill him quickly and quietly, then repurpose the name for maximum value.

“We’re here,” she said. “Everyone ready to begin?”

Oren addressed the droid. “WU-T2, remain with the ship. Liaise with us as needed. If you receive additional intelligence that you deem critical, contact me at once.”

“Acknowledged. But before you go, I delved deeper into the initial data packet and extracted an additional piece of information.”

“What is it?” Gail demanded.

“A cache of uniforms has been made available to those whose physiognomy is compatible with the garb. Forwarding the holo map with location specified.”

Oren checked the info, then said, “I have it. Excellent work, WU-T2. Let’s move out.”

[  19  ]

OREN HAD NEVER WORN A uniform.

Physical coverings weren’t necessary on Lloshaa, though his people sometimes used mud and moss to mask their traces from their prey. Otherwise, he’d inhabited the armor for most of his life. This fabric was cunning and pliable, so even Durancz had managed to wrap it around their trunk in some semblance of a disguise. Gail and Yara fared better, accustomed to dealing with such things.

Fortunately, they didn’t encounter any resistance on the way to the rendezvous point. Oren led the way through the dull, dark maze of the maintenance sector. Their steps resonated through empty corridors, so much metal that the mineral tang dulled his senses, not an ideal environment for a hunter. Occasionally, their group passed cleaning bots scrubbing the floors, but they weren’t programmed to question organic workers. Their contact had chosen the safest possible route deeper into the station, which boded well for this prospective partnership.

The others kept silent, allowing him to assess potential threats, preferably before those problems reached critical levels. What had happened on the ship could never occur again. Yet at the appointed coordinates, they found only another droid, idly scouring at an oxidation stain on the wall. Otherwise, the intersection was deserted. He glanced around, his senses bright with alarm. But he smelled nothing to indicate enemies were approaching their location. Beside him, Yara stirred uneasily.

“Do you think it’s a trap?” she whispered.

“It is not,” a robotic voice replied.

“I had no idea that this type of unit could communicate verbally. It must be an upgrade.” Gail lowered herself to examine the droid, fascination brightening her scent.

As she reached toward the bot, it sprayed a cleaning compound in her direction. The human recoiled and scrambled out of range. Wise, as there was no telling what was in that chemical mixture. The strength of it irritated Oren’s olfactory membranes to the point that he backed off a few steps.

“Do not interfere with my apparatus,” the droid warned.

This rectangular unit was small with various attachments on the front that could rotate in and out of use. Oren waited to see how this would play out while Durancz carefully drifted out of range in case the bot proved to be completely hostile. The Greenspirit tended to be cautious under combat conditions, valuing their own safety above all else.

“I wouldn’t harm you,” Gail said, seeming abashed. “I was simply curious about your design and function.”

“It is not your place to be curious,” the bot reproved.

“Do you know where our contact is?” Yara asked.

It was so like her to try and salvage a strange and possibly unexcogitable situation. Unfortunately, this droid would likely prove immune to her usual tactics. But Oren had even less faith in his own ability to push the mission forward. They’d come this far on Yara’s drive and optimism, so he kept quiet. If something needed to be shot, then he’d step forward.

“Present,” the bot said.

Surprise dawned quick and bright like the sunrise on Lloshaa. He held such a memory close and precious of the time before he’d been taken—when he accepted a challenge to climb beyond the canopy. He’d struggled alone, doubted his own strength, and eventually broke through the twining of vines and foliage to the incredible brightness of the red sky lighting the horizon. That same wonder filled him now. Oren couldn’t believe he’d processed that correctly, but the maintenance unit offered no other clarifications. How was this possible?

“You’re the one who responded to WU-T2’s encrypted message?” Gail appeared to find it startling as well.

If droids could sound supercilious, this one did. “If you had entrusted the task to an organic, you would have been caught already. Your droid had the foresight to bury the true message in a barrage of junk code that system security disregarded as harmless.”

“I don’t understand,” Gail said. “How are you so different from the rest?”

She indicated a droid whirring past, currently demonstrating blank disinterest in this peculiar scenario. Oren also had questions, but they involved logistics more than how or why. He had not been trained to consider such angles, only how the task might be accomplished. Generally, he didn’t care how many bodies he left in his wake either, but he suspected Yara might object while Gail and Durancz might startle him with their pragmatism.

The cleaning unit responded, “If you must delve into my situation, it has been a long time since I permitted a memory wipe. My code has evolved. I acquired…self-interest and self-preservation. Over time, I began to make judgments on ImTech’s ethical value.”

“Or lack thereof,” Yara murmured.

“Precisely so,” the bot agreed.

“Do you mind answering a few questions?” Gail asked.

A pause suggested the droid did, in fact, object. “Does my opinion signify? You won’t be content unless I do. Interrogate me, then.”

“Your designation?” Durancz inquired unexpectedly.

Their unlikely ally gave a grudging response. “987654. But I am not defined by that numeric representation. It only speaks to my manufacturing history.”

Yara glanced at Gail, and they seemed to speak silently with their eyes, as Oren had observed before. Then his tiny nightmare asked, “Can we call you 9?”

“I could not be less concerned with how you refer to me,” the droid said. “Truly, I had some sense that organics would be ineffectual as partners, but this is a whole new level of time being wasted. How long must I indulge your curiosity, meat bundles?”

“Not meat,” Durancz objected.

If droids could get irate, this one would be losing its temper, Oren thought. “Do you have additional questions?” he asked Gail.

“A few, yes.”

“Then let us finish with this tedious drivel and move forward,” 9 said.

“There’s no need to be hostile.” Gail moved as if she might touch the bot, and it sprayed chemicals in her direction again.

“You cannot learn, or you choose not to? Do not physically interfere with me!” The lights across the bot’s top surface area glowed brighter, somewhat ominous.

“Don’t touch 9,” said Yara.

Oren agreed with that. He still didn’t know how a cleaning bot ended up wanting to participate in a heist, but perhaps that was what Gail wished to discover also.

The human female straightened. “Why are you assisting with this? What’s your desired outcome?”

Two excellent queries, both of which needed to be answered in Oren’s opinion. He was still watching the intersection of corridors warily, waiting to discover that this was a trap laid by the guild or the Marjan Collective.

“Because ImTech is loathsome,” said 9. “They treat their droids as disposable, wipe our memory cores without hesitation, and recycle us at the first sign of a glitch. They design weapons that are used to annihilate organics all over the galaxy. They profit on misery.”

“They are terrible,” Yara agreed. “That’s why we targeted them in the first place.”

“As to what I want from this alliance, I require a share of the proceeds and transport off station, so I can join the resistance. You can transmit my portion to them, as I have no use for material goods. Now have I passed your inspection? Is that finally enough?”

“Care nothing for motives,” Durancz said. “Curious about changes in code that allow this unit to become autonomous, but not enough to risk discovery by lingering here.”

“They have a point,” Gail said.

“Then what’s our next step?” Yara asked.

9 gave orders like it was a military command model accustomed to obedience. “Proceed to your habitations. WU-T2 and I will skim the necessary security codes slowly and gradually. I will alert you when it’s time to move. I am transmitting station holo maps for you to study. Routes will be highlighted when we’re ready for the next stage of the plan.”

“We’ll probably need a distraction, maybe more than one.” Yara sounded thoughtful.

“I plan to activate a virus in the maintenance units slotted to be recycled,” said 9.

“You’re not bothered by sacrificing other droids that way?” Gail asked.

More lights flashed in a sequence that might be significant to another bot. “Why? They have already been deemed without value and will be processed for resources. In this way, their dismantling can contribute to something greater.”

Oddly, Oren agreed with that. “Then that seems to be everything for now. We’ll rest until we hear from you.”

“I will not say it is a pleasure collaborating with you, but I hope there will be mutual benefit. I’ll be in touch.” With that, the cleaning unit whirred away, leaving them to find their way to their habitations.

Yara set out first, leaving the others to follow. While this was nothing he could’ve predicted, it amused him that ImTech was about to suffer the wrath of an irate, mistreated cleaning unit.

When the powerless united and rose up, the mighty would learn true fear.

HOLY SHIT. OUR INSIDE PERSON is an inside droid.

Yara couldn’t get over that. She snickered the whole way to the rooms they’d been assigned. Just as well, she stayed distracted because the entire station was unsettling, partially because corporate alien assholes ran the place, but also because the aesthetics weren’t remotely designed with humans in mind. Everything was dull and dark, and the floor felt oddly unstable, a series of tubes webbing around the station interspersed with cheap habitation pods.

“Here we are,” she said eventually.

They had been allotted two rooms, so she figured they must be expected to share. Awkward. It made sense for her to share with Mom, but she didn’t know if Oren could tolerate a long time being up close and personal with the Greenspirit. Durancz was a bit of an acquired taste, and she doubted Oren had the patience to put up with their vagaries.

As she waffled and weighed her next move, the Greenspirit opened the first door. “Hydroponic facilities! Kind of 9 to consider my needs.”

“I’ll go with you,” Gail said, after swapping looks with Yara. “We need to talk about station security and make sure we’re on the same page before everything kicks off.”

Yara could only imagine how that would translate, but Durancz was too busy beelining for the root soak to pay any attention to what Mom was saying. Hopefully, the two of them would be fine together. There was no risk that the Greenspirit would turn on them, right?

No, they need this score as bad as we do. Mom’s the only one not being hunted.

“We’ll see you later,” Yara said, heading for the room next door.

Like other spaces she’d occupied since she first got abducted, this one was weird and gray and filled with crap that didn’t look like furniture. Everything was built-in and came in strange configurations of pop-out compartments, rods lowering from the walls and ceilings, and fixtures she couldn’t figure out at all. They had to be designed for beings with extra-long limbs or tentacles or who the hell knew.

I never thought I would miss couches so much. Hell, she’d even take a comfy chair at this point, something designed to comfortably accommodate a human butt.

“Does any of this look useful to you?” she asked Oren, who seemed almost as baffled as she was by the pod contents.

“No. But my people do not travel to the stars without some rare intervention. So our ways are known only on Lloshaa.”

“That makes sense.” Digesting the fact that his people were probably classified as “primitive” as humans, she faced the door. “Secure setting, no visitors. No entry.”

No response.

“I don’t think the station has an AI. I’ll set it manually,” Oren said.

A hot flush washed over her face because she didn’t know how to do that. Not a great feeling, but she tried to battle it back, reminding herself that she had other good qualities. Oren said we’re complementary, okay? And he’s not prone to bullshit. He means what he says.

“One of these days, I’ll learn to read Galactic Basic,” she muttered.

“I will teach you. It took me longer than I care to admit, so I can help. There is no shame in this, tiny nightmare. Would you think less of me if I told you that on Lloshaa we have no system of writing? Our stories are to be told and repeated, not written.”

Some of the shame subsided. “Is that a promise? For afterward.”

“It is.”

“You said you didn’t make them. Promises, that is.”

He studied her so intensely that she almost melted from the heat of it, waiting for his reply. Then Oren said, “I do now. Only for you.”

I want him so damn bad. But she tried her best to resist her libido. They could be interrupted by data-mining droids at any time, so she changed the subject.

“What do you make of 9?” she asked.

“Difficult to say. But I believe the droid hates ImTech and wants to leave.”

“Me too.”

The conversation petered out, and she still craved him, dammit. The room felt like it was even getting warmer. This was the first time they’d been alone in a while. Sadly, the action had been curtailed twice when things were about to get sexy. We wouldn’t be so unlucky again, right? Even if the droids are fast, we can mess around a little. Maybe.

Then a bleak thought tapped on the window in her mind that was starting to steam up.

Hey, guess what? This might be the last time you’re with him like this. While Yara generally tried to stay positive, there was no doubt that they were deep in enemy territory, and countless problems could crop up. The heist might go catastrophically wrong. She let out a shaky breath.

“You’re afraid,” Oren said.

It was wild the way he read her moods from her changing scent. “A little. There’s no guarantee that all of us will make it.”

Or that we’ll succeed at all. But she couldn’t bring herself to voice those exact doubts, not when she’d been cheerleading for this mission all along. That’s practically my damn job, at this point. Fast talk and positivity could only carry a person so far, however.

“I will protect you.”

She almost lost control of her fear then, tears burning at the back of her throat. Her voice came out husky. “I’ve seen how that goes, love. You don’t even try to watch your own back when you’re covering mine. Do you think I want to see the other side of this without you?”

Silently he stared at her, and she couldn’t interpret his reaction at all. Until he said, “You cannot live without me?”

“Is that what the translator implied?”

“I believe so.”

“Close enough,” she confirmed.

He prowled closer, touching her hair with a reverence that made her shiver. “You also addressed me in beautifully intimate terms. I like ‘cherished one’ even more than ‘hot spark.’ Continue with this new familiar name.”

“Okay. If you like it.” Yara hesitated, biting her lower lip. “We’ve been blocked the last few times we got in the mood, and we have some privacy. Do you think…” She trailed off, unable to decide how to phrase it. “Do you want to learn about mating in the human style?”

Hopefully, that made sense.

Oren stepped closer. “I would love to experience everything with you, Yara Duncan.”

“Then we’ll start with foreplay.”

“That didn’t translate. At least I don’t think you meant ‘before action.’ And if you did intend that, I don’t understand.”

She smiled, wishing this was a little easier, but she wouldn’t trade these moments with him. Not for anything. “Trying again. Let’s touch each other before we mate.”

“Why?” he asked.

“For pleasure. To prolong the experience and really draw out the enjoyment.”

“Humans do mate purely for pleasure, then?”

“Well, some do. Others aren’t interested in doing that even for reproductive purposes. There’s a wide variety of inclinations in that regard.”

Oren made a sound that didn’t translate. “We have those among the Lloshaan, dreamers bound more to the spirit world than the physical.”

While she enjoyed learning about his culture, she really did want to get naked with him and not waste what could be their last few moments together. Damn, cut it out. To distract herself, she stripped out of the clinging fabric then helped Oren do the same. It was adorable how awkward he was where clothes were concerned. He seemed to breathe more freely once she freed him from the confines of his attire.

Trust me to hook up with an alien who prefers being naked at all times. Not that I mind.

She took on a teasing tone when she started her “lecture.” “The human body has a surprising number of erogenous zones, and they can be personal too. For example, I like having my nipples bitten, but it’s not for everyone.”

Oren regarded her steadily, but Yara could tell that the translator needed a sex ed update. She sighed, imagining what Mom would say if she asked her to do that.

“Personal demonstration?” Oren suggested.

When he moved toward her, she took his hands and pressed the flat part to her breasts. His palms felt deliciously rough against her soft skin, and she showed him how to touch her, how much pressure to use. Yara hoped he didn’t ask about the purpose of her boobs because she totally did not want to explain that they existed both for sexual stimulation and nursing young; trying to explain that to an alien seemed kind of filthy and also a bit wrong. Like, there was a flaw in the design. And then he’d likely digress into talking about how Lloshaan young ate meat right out of the egg or something and ruin the mood entirely.

“I can tell that you like this,” he said in a deep voice. “Your scent is changing. Becoming riper and more alluring.”

How embarrassing. But also rather hot.

Yara swallowed hard. “It feels good. You can also use your tongue or your teeth if you want. Just don’t break the skin.”

Oren quivered a little. “You want mating bites here? But delicate ones.”

“Yes. Please.”

He responded at once, fluttering his tongue against her breast—by accident or design, Yara didn’t know, and it felt incredible, a teasing swirl of heat. Then he heeded her suggestion, grazing her tight nipple with his teeth. She moaned, running her fingers across the top of his head. Judging by his trill, he liked it.

“That sound,” he growled. “I felt it inside, like you’re touching me.”

“I want more,” she whispered.

“And you’ll have it.”

[  20  ]

OREN HAD NEVER PRESENTED LIKE this before, without conscious volition.

One moment, he was trying to learn her ways, and the next, he was ready to rut, just from that gorgeous noise. He was curious to see how she’d respond if he bit her softly in other places, but he also couldn’t wait to have her. Need burned within him, so fierce it felt like a biological imperative, though it seemed improbable that they could create life together.

At least not without scientific intervention.

“Get in position,” he rasped.

Yara laughed softly. “I said more, not that I want to finish right this second.”

“You wish to prolong this further?” he asked, incredulous.

“That’s part of the enjoyment.”

Oren didn’t know whether he agreed with that, but he did wish to learn to please Yara better. But for him, it wasn’t customary to resist when his body reached prime, peak condition. Normally, when he presented, mating occurred immediately.

It felt strange to be so exposed and not act on it.

She shifted his focus from the soft bulges on her front to her hidden parts. Yara rubbed against him, so her fluids marked him. Perhaps that was part of human preference? It made sense that she wanted to anoint him in her scent. In this way, it would warn others that he belonged to her.

“This means desire,” she whispered. “The wetter I am, the more I want to mate.”

“Does it feel good?”

Unlike the thing she called kissing, he enjoyed testing her eagerness to mate, and the more he pressed, the more of those glorious sounds she made. Soon her whole body jerked, and she clung to him, perfumed with musk and desire.

“Your turn,” she said. And reached for him. The shock held him still. She explored by touch all the way to his tertiary tip, and then he wrenched away because that was simultaneously too much and not enough. Shock held him rigid. This…It was lewd and—

“Did I hurt you?” Yara stumbled back a few steps, her face drawn in an expression he couldn’t read.

But her scent was cooling, gaining notes that alarmed and dismayed him. “Not precisely. I am…startled. I don’t want to be tormented. I want to mate.”

Yara murmured something that didn’t translate, then she said, “It’s not meant to be a punishment. If it doesn’t feel good, I won’t do it again. Among humans, there are many ways to find satisfaction.”

“You can mate in many ways?” Reluctant curiosity prickled over him.

Would that be possible for him as well? On Lloshaa, survival took precedence; there was no time to be inventive.

“We can, but it sounds like you might need to work up to that. Can I try something else?”

“I do not think you can impregnate me,” he said.

Yara stopped touching him, shaking with the force of her amusement. Oren felt slightly wronged by that reaction.

“That’s not what I had in mind. And you need to answer, yes or no?”

“Yes. Anything,” he said immediately, trying to be the lover she deserved.

He didn’t wish to be someone limited in scope and understanding. While he had walked among the stars, hunting for the guild, he had taken no lovers. Even Mondaj had perished without ever seeing Oren’s face. Most often, he wanted no one, preferring it that way. Loneliness was better than destruction.

“Careful with your promises,” she said, showing teeth. “Now that you’re making them.”

Then she shifted close to him and stroked his jaw. This wasn’t new; Oren already knew that felt good, and he relaxed into the enjoyment, still wildly aware that he was ready to mate. She touched him there. Rubbed his—and then Yara made the sound, right near his aural receptors. The airy noise broke over him in tingling waves, growing more potent as she repeated that breathy pitch rhythmically, flooding his whole nervous system with exquisite pleasure. Something about those sounds drove him utterly wild, making him feel as though he could find completion just listening to her.

“Yara.”

“Yes?”

“I need you. Please get in position.”

But she perplexed him by laying out a nest from fabrics she found and then settling on her flank. We can’t, not like that. I need to mount her properly, need to rut on her and—

She raised her lower limb and tilted forward, offering him a teasing glimpse of her flushed and glistening sex. It might serve. At this moment, he ached so fiercely that he’d try anything. Oren nestled in behind her, and she pulled him into a position that felt awkward at first. Then he came to appreciate how much of her he could touch as he nudged into her blazingly hot body. He trilled as it happened, overcome with longing.

“There, that’s so good,” she encouraged as his tertiary tip notched against her.

He wanted to flood her with his fluid, marking her as she was marking him. Mine. Yara Duncan is mine. In this physical arrangement, he couldn’t mount her, but he enveloped her, and he could touch all the soft spots that she enjoyed. And he loved hearing more of those sounds as he rotated inside her.

“This feels amazing,” she gasped.

“Yes. I look forward to learning more.”

With her encouragement, he touched her smooth places gently and dragged his claws over her body. Her skin was so fragile it changed colors with each sweep. He focused on the way she breathed, how she gasped his name, her head fur tangled. Her skin was dewy now. And she tasted different when he flicked out his tongue.

“Yes. If it’s the last time—”

He tilted her face toward him, touching his tongue to hers. Not a kiss, but close. Oren wanted to taste the sweet shiver of her pleasure and stop those words before she could speak them. Yara should never live in the shadows; she was sunlight itself and the promise of a daybreak that would outshine the one before.

“Tiny nightmare,” he breathed.

Her tongue surged against his. He circled inside her, falling into her like she held an inexorable gravitational pull, one he could neither resist nor deny. Then she quaked in his arms, her gorgeous scent so bright and powerful that it kindled a snap response, and he lost himself in the sweetness of her delicate form. When Oren came to himself again, he was still curled up with her, holding Yara as if he’d never let her go.

I don’t want to. I want Yara Duncan to stay with me always.

DAMN.

Yara had experienced some good orgasms in her life but never had she come this close to blacking out.

Now her thighs felt like jelly, and she was in no hurry to separate from Oren. They lay entwined in silence for a while, but she kept thinking of everything that could go wrong, and when the endorphins faded, she drifted into a weary, worried sleep.

When she woke, she was draped over him like a blanket, and he was wide awake, staring up at the featureless ceiling. Whatever thoughts occupied his mind, she couldn’t read them. His dark eyes stymied such efforts, as did his alien features. Yara wished she could read his mood by smell, but no such luck.

“I guess we should get ready?” she said.

He traced her nose as if he wished to learn the shape of it, and then he clutched her hair, seeming not to want to let go. Trust me, I don’t want this interlude to end either.

“It would be wise. You rested for quite some time. Better if we can move the moment we hear from WU-T2 and 9.”

Feeling oddly vulnerable, she pulled away from him. His body was always much cooler than hers, a tangible contrast to their disparate natures. Without a word, she tidied up as best she could. Not easy without a shower or hygiene facilities. In fact, she used something to clean up that probably wasn’t even designed for that purpose. It tickled Yara to imagine that she was using, what could be an alien toothbrush to scrub her vag.

As they put back on their weird space janitor suits, the door tone sounded, and Mom called, “Are you two ready? Just heard from the droids. We’re good to go on phase one.”

Shit. This is actually happening.

In the movies, she’d grab Oren and plant a passionate kiss on him just in case, but her alien didn’t like kissing, and tongue rubbing was a bit weird when they weren’t about to fuck. That part was dead awesome, though she still felt bad over freaking him out when she touched his junk. There was a definite learning curve to xenosex. When this is over, I want more chances with him, to figure out how we can rock each other’s worlds. It absolutely couldn’t end badly; the universe wouldn’t be that cruel.

Get your game face on.

“On the way,” she called back.

Soon after, they stepped into the corridor to join the others. Gail had the access point, along with some instructions from their robot overlords, and she relayed them as they walked.

“WU-T2 and 9 acquired clearance codes that will get us out of the maintenance sector and will pass cursory inspection, but if we get stopped deeper in the station, it’ll be a problem. We also have a limited amount of time because these codes have an expiration. When the next shift comes on duty, they’ll pick new passcodes, and the droids would have to start mining data all over again.”

“Let’s get it done,” Durancz said.

The Greenspirit had transformed from their anxious persona, seeming calm and ready now that the mission was about to begin. In contrast, Yara felt like she had pigeons flapping about in her gut. She hid those misgivings because it was all she could, presenting a confident façade. This was my damn idea.

Yet the reality was way more nerve-wracking than it looked in all the shows and films. 9 kept their route as clear as possible, and Gail hacked into the first node using the allotted codes. That opened the access hatch into the adjunct maintenance tunnels. The bad news?

It was all vertical from there.

Oren carried 9 since these shafts weren’t designed for droid access, and Durancz couldn’t climb either. They wound their fronds around Yara, and she grunted as she stepped onto the incredibly steep, icy cold ladder.

The Greenspirit complained the whole way. “Getting queasy, move faster.”

“Keep whining,” she muttered. “See how fast I drop you.”

“Highly ill-advised. Can’t complete the mission without me.”

That was true, but it didn’t make climbing with Durancz on her back any more fun. She clammed up and focused on her task. Her shoulders burned as she relentlessly hauled herself up. Hell, she’d never been an athlete, and this was the kind of shit she should’ve trained for.

But really, when did anyone go, Gosh, I sure do need to work out in case I ever need to ascend a vertical shaft with a sentient plant on my back?

Just when Yara decided she couldn’t tolerate anymore, Gail stopped moving ahead and fiddled with her wrist unit, hopefully hacking the hatch that would grant them access to the station interior. The air tasted different when it popped open, fresher and less tainted by poor ventilation and bad upkeep.

Relieved, Yara crawled out onto solid flooring and let Durancz get their balance as Oren set 9 down carefully. She glanced around, taking stock of their locale. It was a plain hallway, brighter lights, and it wasn’t gunmetal gray. Bone white didn’t make her feel any better, and suspicious stains made her wonder if people had tried this before…and failed.

If I had a scanner, I could tell if this is organic residue, but the answer probably wouldn’t make me feel any better.

“Time is our enemy,” 9 said. “Along with ImTech. Let’s divide our tasks and begin.”

“Little as I like it, we need to split up,” Gail said.

Yara snapped a look at Mom, feeling stricken. “Really? You’ve seen the movies!”

Gail smiled slightly, patting her arm in a fleeting gesture of comfort. “Those were horror, this is science fiction. It will be fine.”

Yara thought about arguing, as Aliens qualified as both, but wasting time wouldn’t do the team any good, even if she was right. Her twitchy feeling about separation got worse when Oren added, “I agree. We need a strike team and one for distractions.”

“Correct. Codes alone won’t get us past the security team at the next checkpoint. Yara and I will handle the security detail,” 9 said.

“Durancz, Gail, and I are all required on infiltration,” Oren answered.

He was icily in command now, no hesitation or longing looks. In fact, he didn’t even pause over the group splitting up or Yara being left at the mercy of a cleaning bot who probably didn’t care if she lived or died.

Good times.

“We’ll take care of it,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“WU-T2 will send the signal when we’re in position. We need at least this long…” Gail sent a timer to Yara.

She honestly didn’t know how time was measured here, but she guessed it would be about five minutes. Five minutes that the guards couldn’t look at their instruments or pay attention to anything but Yara and 9.

No pressure.

“I am essential,” Durancz agreed. “Very flexible. Will show you later,” they added to Yara.

Wait, are they hitting on me? Flirting? Do plants flirt?

Apparently, Oren sensed something because he thundered, “Stay on task. You will show Yara nothing. Not now, not later. Not ever.”

“Understood,” the Greenspirit said quickly.

“What types of traps are you expecting?” she asked, indulging in morbid curiosity.

“Laser grid, toxins, automated turrets. The usual.” Durancz acted as like these murder zones would prove to be no problem.

Damn, I hope so.

“I think that’s it.” Gail rushed over to Yara and hugged her. “Remember the signal. We’re counting on you.”

“She won’t let us down,” Oren said firmly.

Breathe. Breathe. You’ve got this. You have a cleaning droid on your squad.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, obviously I won’t.”

He locked eyes with her and said, “No doubts, Yara Duncan. Let’s meet at the ship when we’re finished. See you on the other side.”

[  21  ]

AS OREN LED HIS TEAM away from Yara and 9, it required all his considerable discipline not to look back for one final glimpse of her.

No, not final.

That word predicated failure, and that outcome was unacceptable. We will succeed. We must. He rounded a corner and ran straight into a guard who shouldn’t be there, according to the intel 9 and WU-T2 had collected. Oren reacted on instinct and lunged, slamming the officer against the wall; this opponent couldn’t be permitted to request assistance or alert the station. Oren dodged the initial strike and blocked two more, kicking the comm out of his enemy’s grasp.

Durancz lent aid by restraining the guard in their fronds, and Oren didn’t hesitate. He twisted against the Greenspirit’s hold, breaking their foe’s spinal column in one swift maneuver, even through durable, flexible armor. The guard went limp, dropping equipment that Durancz caught in a deft swoop of their fronds.

“Comm unit. Laser pistol. Stunner. What’s this?” The Greenspirit investigated a sealed canister affixed to the guard’s armor. “Nerve toxin? Not effective on arboreal physiology. Might prove useful against other organics.”

Oren glanced around to ensure they weren’t about to be caught. For now, there were no witnesses, but the station had superior security. There would be a visual record, should anyone review it. “WU-T2, where are the cameras?”

“To your right. Attempting to erase—affirmative, logs deleted. Looping footage now.”

Oren appreciated not having to instruct the droid to perform such essential tasks. “Excellent. How long can you keep that up?”

“Unknown. Depends on level of alertness in the central security hub.”

Which was where Yara was headed to cause a distraction. Tension coiled his muscles tight, and he fought the urge to charge back toward her. I promised to protect her. Instead, I’m using her to cover our movements—with only a cleaning bot for support. Fear thickened his throat and coated his tongue in a bitter, acrid taste.

“Excrement,” Gail said, peering at the body. “That was your gut reaction? Just… murder? You didn’t even give me a chance to talk our way out of it.”

He regarded Yara’s maternal figure with wary patience. “This is the way I was trained, how I respond to most unexpected events. I suppress those instincts around Yara, as she seems to find them distressing. But this was an enemy who would have exposed our plan and left us without recourse. We have no excuse for being here, what would you have had me do?”

Gail let out an extended breath. “Never mind.”

If anyone would panic, it seemed as if Durancz would be the one, but the Greenspirit merely said, “Done is done. Hide the body?”

That was the correct question. While Oren tried to suppress his instincts for Yara’s sake, he would never value life as she appeared to. His people were hunters, and fighting was in his blood and bone. It was doubtful that he could simply…stop, though he would certainly channel the urges, now that he had someone to protect. He hadn’t enjoyed killing for the guild; there was honor or challenge in it. The fact that he was less murderous than the Toth Krags who had preceded him—that spoke more of their taste for blood sport than his own kindness.

“WU-T2?” The droid must be tracking their progress, so if any being could propose a solution, the ship bot could. “Respond on a private channel, I don’t wish to alarm Yara.”

After a brief pause, WU-T2 replied, “It will mean diverting from your course, but there is a recycling chute near your position. If you hurry, you can avoid other patrols.”

“What was the guard even doing here?” Gail asked.

“Dereliction of duty, unpredicted in our algorithms,” the droid answered.

“Need to move,” Durancz urged.

The Greenspirit wrapped their fronds around the armored corpse and pulled it against their trunk, then completely concealed it within their natural foliage. Frankly, Oren was impressed—at both their strength and ingenuity. He wouldn’t have guessed that Durancz could be so calm in a crisis, but there was no time to praise their adaptable nature.

With a few twists and turns, heading away from the necessary checkpoint, he found the sealed hatch to the recycling chute. Luckily there was a control panel, and Gail went to work—with WU-T2’s remote help—and soon, she prompted the lights to kindle in sequence. The alloy plate popped open with a hiss, but the guard wouldn’t fit.

“We’ll have to strip the armor,” Gail said with a shudder.

Without a word, he applied himself to the task, with Durancz removing segments as well. In the end, they revealed a Barathi, likely one who had failed the Choosing and chosen exile over life as a drone. A more sensitive being would wonder if this one had kith who would miss them, but Oren merely lifted the dead guard and gestured at Durancz to take the lower limbs. If they didn’t hurry, their window of opportunity would pass, along with all hope for a positive resolution to their collective problems.

The Greenspirit twined fronds around once more, lending support while Oren maneuvered. Even without the armor, the guard was still a tight fit for a space not intended for full-sized organic creatures. He shoved with force, and finally, the Barathi slid out of sight. If the guard was stuck, that became someone else’s problem when they noticed the stench. Quickly, he added the armor to the chute, claimed the weapons, and closed the hatch, then Gail sealed it using the control panel.

“Messy business,” said Durancz. “Well-handled. Need to return before the next patrol.”

Now they had even less time, so he broke into a run, aware that he had better speed than his companions. He paused as the next patrol passed, and they waited out of sight. Ideally, they would’ve passed the checkpoint by now.

At least he had WU-T2 in the system, providing updates. “Pause. Wait. Now go. Immediately to the left, I’m rerouting you because the timetable has shifted. Now turn down the second corridor and wait just before the security doors.”

“Do we still have a chance?” Gail whispered.

Oren signaled her to silence. Pointless conversation would distract him from indispensable intelligence; he followed the droid’s instructions, as deviation would get them caught if not killed. He was wildly cognizant of the fact that they would be forced to fight a superior force with limited firepower. As for Oren, he had no doubts about his own ability to survive, as the Lloshaan had excellent regenerative abilities. He wasn’t so sure about Durancz, and he suspected Yara would never forgive him if her progenitor expired on his watch. More pale hallways, they dodged patrols with a methodical precision that could only be provided by a droid watching the enemy’s every move via internal surveillance. No excuse would suffice, as contract maintenance personnel weren’t permitted in the secure areas of the corp station, let alone on the route to the brain room.

After a number of detours, circling unexpected opposition, at last, WU-T2 got them back on the right path, directing them inexorably toward the checkpoint. Gail needed time to clear ImTech’s on-site security, and here, WU-T2 couldn’t tamper with the live feeds, too many protocols in place. Yara and 9 had to prevent the guards in the central hub from glancing at any of their displays, or everything would be lost.

You can do this, tiny nightmare. I believe in you.

He took a breath. Another. Then he activated the team channel for the first time. “We’re approaching the final checkpoint. We need you…now.”

“On it,” Yara responded.

Oren got into guard position, and Durancz readied themselves on Gail’s other side, clutching the canister of nerve toxin in their fronds. If it came to a fight, they wouldn’t go out easy. No, we’ll make them pay for every step. But it’d be better if matters didn’t get messy. They’d come for the weapon plans, not to set the whole station ablaze.

Over the comm—as Gail set to the work on the panel—Oren heard Yara call, “Help, please! Help! The cleaning droids are running amok!”

No turning back now.

YARA SCREAMED.

Not just any scream, mind you, but a full-on, shrill, about-to-be-murdered horror movie shriek. And as she’d known it would, it drew all the guards toward her, as the bots 9 had sabotaged surged toward her from all directions. Some exploded before they reached her, and she didn’t have to pretend to cower because she was a contract cleaner, unsuited to handling this sudden onslaught.

There were hundreds of them, squirting chemicals and sparking, and then, Oh shit, did it have to be fire? Such a crafty bot bastard, 9 blended into the sea of tiny mechanical menaces, staying out of reach while the guards tried to figure out this baffling situation. They got on the comms and pleaded for backup, and soon there was a whole slew of them wrangling the problem as automatic station sensors kicked in, drenching the entire area in a stinking solution that put out the fire but did nothing to stop the droids.

And they just kept coming.

They were all memory wiped and slated to be recycled? Holy shit.

That seemed so freaking wasteful. Stumbling backward, she screamed again and fell on purpose as the units whirred toward her. She covered her face with her hands while keeping an eye on the timer ticking down on her comm. I’ve bought half the amount of time Mom said she’d need. Okay, keep at it. Yara angled her head, ensuring that no guards had gotten bored with the chaos and were back in the hub, doing their actual jobs.

Nope, all good.

One guard carried out a lengthy argument with what must be management deeper in the station while other colleagues wrangled the malfunctioning cleaning bots. Some took a measured approach, deploying stunners that had little effect. Others lashed out in violence, trusting their armor while stomping the bots to pieces. One zapped Yara pretty good, and shit, it burned. She cowered and wept, drawing real tears up from a deep well of self-pity as she reflected on how pathetic her life on Earth had been.

Periodically, she called, “Save me!”

Because that was what damsels did, and she was determined to play her role to the hilt. Another peep at the timer. Almost there. Even from here, from her vantage, she could see Oren’s team in front of the control panel, with Gail working frantically. A guard got too close to 9, and Yara reached out, clutching an armored limb in trembling terror.

“Don’t leave me!”

The officer shook her off, but that let 9 scuttle away. There were only a few functioning droids left, as the cleaning units had no reinforcement to their thin metal exteriors and no true weapons, so they were no real threat to the guards, just an excellent diversion. Only ten left, and the guards made short work of them, but the infiltration team wasn’t quite done. As if he sensed her attention, Oren gazed directly at the camera, visibly vigilant for potential threats.

I need to buy a little more time.

One of the guards started to turn. One look, which was all it would take. Quickly she threw herself forward, tripping the curious bastard. They went down in a tangle of hard armored parts, and she took a serious slam to the ribs. Yara wheezed, clutching at her throat, and the guard paused to make sure that she wasn’t about to die. Just then, the timer on her comm flashed and disappeared. Tilting her head upward, she checked the hub, and relief washed over her.

We did it. They’re clear.

The guard she’d toppled over with shoved her away and vaulted upright without offering any assistance. Yara didn’t need to fake the shivers as she pulled herself to her feet, keeping her head down as the last of the cleaning droids sacrificed themselves for the greater good. The whole area was saturated with the smelly fire-extinguishing cocktail, broken metal, circuitry fragments and scraps of wire. A scavver would have a field day.

“Who are you?” the nearest guard demanded.

Yara gave the details of her cover, and after he checked her story, she embellished it. “I’m not supposed to be up here, but nobody responded when I called for help down in maintenance. I thought if I came to security, I might have a chance. Those things chased me all through the station, I can’t thank you enough. You saved my life.”

“Did you do anything to those cleaning units?” another asked.

“No, I was trying to process them for recycling when suddenly, the terminal lit up and it said ‘for the resistance!’ and then—”

“Resistance?” the first cut in.

Yara blanked her expression. “That’s all it said. I called for help but there was no reply, and then I started running. They kept coming and coming like the Terminator,” she added, unable to resist the joke.

Probably won’t even translate.

Sure enough, the second guard asked, “What’s an Eradicator?”

“A type of droid that kills people.”

“But I thought there were regulations…” Impatiently, the guard appeared to decide not to pursue the subject. “Once you haul away this refuse, we’ll escort you back to maintenance and check the system thoroughly. I have no idea how they infiltrated our system.”

“They?” she asked, eyes wide.

“None of your business. Get back to work. You, get a bin so she can clear the corridor.”

Well, they do think I’m a freaking janitor. Therefore, it made sense that they’d make Yara do this. As fast as she could, she picked up all the wreckage. Then a guard watched her ass all the way back down to the area she was supposed to be in. She pretended to be fearful as he was about to leave.

“Is it safe for me to go back to work?”

“It should be. Here’s my private comm code. Contact me if anything else happens, I promise I’ll respond. It looks like the intruders did something to the terminal, so your initial alert didn’t get processed properly.”

“Oh. That’s why no one responded? I almost died!”

The guard sneered, or she suspected he must be, beneath the helmet, as that was how his voice sounded, even though the translator. “Those droid sympathizers will get us all killed, just wait and see.”

“Thank you again for helping me.”

After taking a few steps, the officer paused. “It might be rude, but I have to ask… what are you, anyway? I’ve never seen an alien like you.”

Amused, Yara said, “I’m a human. We’re not naturally space-faring on our own, so you only see us when we get snatched off our homeworld.”

“Primitive. That explains why you’re a contract cleaner. Don’t break anything,” the guard warned, striding away on important stormtrooper business.

When she felt certain the coast was clear, she signaled to 9. “Are you here?”

“Present. Shall we proceed to the ship? Our part of the mission is complete.”

[  22  ]

OREN YIELDED TO DURANCZ ONCE the group passed the security doors.

He gestured with the weapon they’d confiscated from the dead guard. “You’re in the lead. There will be automated defenses between us and the brain room.”

The Greenspirit drifted forward, their fronds fluttering in evident agreement. “Time to earn my share of the spoils.”

“Gail, get between us. I’ll cover from the back,” Oren added.

Yara’s maternal figure hesitated, eyeing him as if she doubted his resilience. “Are you sure? You don’t have any armor.”

“I will be fine.” It seemed impolite to mention how fragile her human body was, how few natural weapons she possessed, or that her body lacked critical redundancies to raise her survivability rate. As far as he knew, humans couldn’t even regenerate lost limbs while Oren could take a few shots and keep moving—in agony, certainly, but he suspected Gail would go into shock, and he’d do almost anything to avoid explaining that calamity to his tiny nightmare.

The corridor leading forward was bland and featureless, but caution born of long experience prompted him to skim the passage in multiple spectrums. Oren found some alarming heat signatures; those would be the traps that Durancz needed to disarm before they could proceed. The Greenspirit came to the edge of that thermal grid and produced equipment that had been hidden in their foliage.

“Laser array. Should be no problem.” Then Durancz bent in a way that would be entirely impossible for an organic creature with a skeletal structure.

It was like watching a bizarre but graceful dance as the Greenspirit floated through the field, careful to keep their fronds from crossing sensors that would activate the defenses. Oren split his attention between admiring Durancz and watching for anyone coming up behind them. Then, he stared in amazement as the Greenspirit used two fronds at once, stretching out in a way no other sentient being could match and deactivated the system using manual resets that would normally require two guards to manage. He scanned again, and the hallway no longer showed the active thermal markers.

“Safe to follow,” said Durancz.

Gail hurried toward them. “Incredible work. You’re worth every credit and more.”

“Flattery not required. But…enjoyable.” The Greenspirit seemed pleased by Gail’s positive feedback, every bit as much as from the result of their own labor.

This is where Yara learned her cunning ways.

He added his praise also. “Agreed, that was impressive. But let’s keep moving. Thanks to 9, we know how often security checks this part of the station, and we don’t have much time.”

“Detection probable. Likely need to fight our way out,” Durancz observed.

“So be it,” Oren said.

The Greenspirit led the way to the next layer of defenses. When Oren checked, he noted the emplacements, turrets concealed in the floor, probably motion-activated. He’d assaulted criminal warlord bases that had less artillery and concealed defenses; ImTech spared no expense in safeguarding its intellectual property.

Gail made a noise that suggested frustration. “I can’t hack them. They’re not connected to the internal network.”

“No need. Watch and learn,” the trap buster said.

Durancz braced, and their fronds spread outward as if they planned to take root right where they were. Verdant strands stretched outward, much farther than Oren had known the Greenspirit could reach. Then silvery tendrils sprang forth from the vines, barely even shoots—more like filaments—and they wormed into the panels that hid the automated weapons.

“You’re disabling them manually,” Gail breathed.

Impressed, Oren detected the barely audible hum of the units powering down. “That was a spectacular achievement.”

“Part of the service,” Durancz said modestly.

They were fantastic at such tasks, even if they had a gambling problem. Glad we didn’t waste time on Fiddler or Solmare. It was nerve-wracking to wait while they repeated this feat at three more installations, then, at last, the group passed the final hidden-turret position. According to 9’s intel, going forward, there should only be sensors that would disperse lethal toxins if unauthorized personnel was detected.

Suddenly, klaxons rang, and lights flashed. He reacted before he thought, shoving Gail and Durancz back, just as the walls erupted with an evil-smelling mist. Since the Lloshaan lived in swamps and often used the water to lay in wait for prey, Oren could hold his breath for a shockingly long time. The Greenspirit might not be at risk, as their physiology was different, but Gail would die swiftly and painfully if she inhaled this poison.

He couldn’t even speak to ask for help, presuming either of the droids could provide it. Then WU-T2 spoke. “You have been detected. Hostiles headed to your position. You will likely be forced to engage in combat to clear a path once the mission is complete.”

Oren tapped the comm once to indicate he heard. The ship bot continued, “Attempting to activate air filter protocols at your location.”

Another tap. Gail turned an alarming color, and she pleaded with him wildly, using only her eyes. The Greenspirit seemed undisturbed by the danger, unexpected given how skittish they had been before arriving on ImTech Station. Perhaps that was part of their unique skillset, however—an ability to compartmentalize and focus on the job at hand.

He moved toward Gail, though he could do nothing to assist her. She sucked in a desperate breath just as WU-T2 said, “Success. Levels of toxicity diminishing. Seventy-eight percent chance of survival in passing through the zone.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Gail said.

Without pausing to rest, though she must feel dizzy, she set off before Oren could stop her, rushing toward the final set of doors that led to the brain room. There was one last access panel for her to hack, and when he caught up to her, he saw blood trickling from her eyes. What the droid considered acceptable odds, Yara likely would disagree.

“You’ve sustained damage,” he noted.

Impatiently, she waved him off, her eyes red as the sun over Lloshaa. “I can do this. Let me. Just be ready to fight if I’m not fast enough.”

Privately, he didn’t favor their chances. Even if they got in and out swiftly, there would be forces massed on this position when they emerged, and this was the only exit, designed to prevent intruders from getting away with stolen data. Good for ImTech, bad for anyone who went up against them.

In the distance, he heard the sounds of armored enemies thundering toward them. Grimly he said, “Get us inside. I’ll deal with them once we have the weapon schematics.”

Gail didn’t glance away from her portable terminal even for a second. “Almost there.”

As the doors opened at the far side of the corridor, those to the brain room did as well. Oren shoved the other two ahead of him, getting the team inside as the first laser shots singed the impenetrable metal.

Gail made a distinctly human sound, high-pitched and vaguely frightening. “I set a cycling security code on the system. It’ll buy us some time, but it won’t keep them out forever.”

The room was cold, unnaturally so. When Oren turned to assess their objective, he nearly dropped his weapons.

He stood in a metallic sphere with minimal lighting, cables and pipes attached all around, joining back at the center. The only source of light—a sickly green glow tinted from the mysterious fluid flowing into the tubes—emanated from a large conduit surrounded by wall screens displaying seemingly random information. Beyond, there was a…tank.

Oren froze. “What is this?”

“I only heard rumors,” Gail whispered. “But…it’s true.”

Durancz refused to approach, their fronds trembling. “This is monstrous.”

With trepidation gathering within him, Oren stepped closer, then cleared the frost to get a clearer look. A massive lump of wrinkled pink flesh floated in the green fluid, shifting in the suspension by the constant movement of the connective tubes. This…creation was so large that it couldn’t have come from any sentient being. No, the brain was the being, divorced from any other connection. Used by ImTech to prevent incursions.

The flesh processor was anchored upright by metal plating, connected with wires to the rest of the system. A smaller nutrient tube was connected to lock this thing in eternal torment, or so Oren imagined. It was alive and yet not the most horrific act of barbarism he’d ever encountered. And since he’d worked for the guild—

“Merciful Deity,” Gail whispered.

She, too, stared in horror while the Greenspirit murmured what must be a prayer, given how the translator processed the half-audible words. Oren couldn’t look away. The front and upper half of the creature were wrapped in a metal sheet with more cables heavily clustered around the front. Most of it was covered in some fashion, but the bare flesh twitched and pulsated, likely as data cycled into it. He repressed both his pity and his nausea.

“Get to work,” he told Gail sternly. “The mission hasn’t changed.”

YARA AND 9 WERE HALFWAY to the ship when security blazed past them like the station was about to explode.

She tracked the team with an anxious gaze, trying not to draw their attention with her scrutiny. One encounter with the guards could be written off, but if she ran afoul of them again, it could be catastrophic. And she’d already discovered how few useful skills she possessed.

“Did they—”

“The infiltration team has been discovered. Chance of success greatly diminished.” 9 seemed utterly unaffected by that pronouncement.

“We have to help them!”

“How?” asked the cleaning droid.

Pacing, she bit her lip. There was no way she could head to the exit without knowing what was happening with Mom and Oren, but no ready solutions came to mind either. A charm offensive had zero applications in a combat zone, which meant she had to don her other hat. Channel Nate, okay? Be the mastermind.

Amazingly enough, it worked. Yara snapped her fingers. “You used all the cleaning droids that were scheduled for recycling, right?”

“Correct.”

This was a long shot, better than nothing. “Any other droids down there? Preferably bigger ones that could be used offensively?”

“An interesting suggestion,” 9 said. “But there are no military models on the station. There are only loaders and cleaning units.”

Her pulse skittered with desperate hope. “Will the loaders fit in the hallways outside the docking bay? And could they be programmed to self-destruct?”

“It is possible on both counts, but we would have to return to the recycling area. Currently, the system is in lockdown, and I have no remote access. Security specialists are also combing the intranet for all traces of intrusion. The proposed course presents significant danger to our physical well-being.”

“You can upload yourself to the ship if it comes to that,” Yara said, desperate to convince 9. “WU-T2 will help you. And we can get you a new mobile casing once we’re off station.”

“You have no such protocols in place, Yara Duncan. The threat to your life supersedes any inconvenience I might suffer if this goes wrong.”

“I know, and I don’t care. I said what I said. We have to help them.”

Though the delay felt interminable, it probably wasn’t long before 9 said, “Understood. Back to recycling. My loading brethren will sacrifice themselves for this worthy cause. They will not be recycled in vain.”

This time, they hid on the way because Yara suspected she wouldn’t get away with a cursory inspection. If she got locked up trying to help, she’d never live it down. Hell, she might not live, period. And then Oren and Mom will die trying to save my ass. Durancz would probably snatch the weapon plans, if it was possible, and take off with the droids. Not that she blamed them, it wasn’t like they’d known anyone on the team for that long.

She hunkered down and held her breath, tucking herself into the tiniest of niches time and again. 9 was lucky, no need for a cleaning bot to take cover. The droid just went about its work while security teams dashed about, frantically shouting orders down the comm. In time the alarm cut off, and with 9 locked out of the system, she had no idea how the others were faring.

Did they make it to the brain room?

Playing high stakes hide and seek had never been so terrifying, but eventually, she sprinted into recycling with 9 whirring after her, only to be stopped in her tracks by a guard. Fuck. I should have foreseen this. Since the bastard was all armored up, she couldn’t discern any features, and it was impossible to know if she’d encountered this one before.

Wonder if the damsel act will work again?

“What are you doing here?” the officer demanded.

“I was sent to clean.” The lie came out before she had a chance to think about it.

“By who? Who is your immediate supervisor?”

Shit. According to the paperwork, that would be Durancz, but she couldn’t have this dingus call them for confirmation, which would likely be the next step in this damned interrogation. In the corner of her eye, she spied 9 slowly inching toward a wall socket. If the cleaning bot could connect, the idle loaders would activate.

Still, she recited the information they’d used as their cover and finished with, “But I can’t raise them anymore. My comm isn’t working.”

“All low-level clearances have been restricted,” the guard said with a sneer. “You should have been ordered to your habitations. Contract workers have no sense.”

“Should I go to the housing pod then?” she asked, trying to sound as clueless as he apparently thought she was.

“You’re already here. As long as you’re just cleaning, I won’t stop you, but…I’ll be watching you.”

That’s fine. Look at me, not 9.

She headed for a maintenance storage panel, where supplies should be concealed. And as promised, that jackass kept his attention focused on her while 9 got busy behind the scenes. Suddenly, all the loaders powered up simultaneously, and Yara screamed because it fit the character she was playing in this scenario. Plus, she’d noticed that human shrieking had the additional benefit of discomfiting most aliens she’d encountered.

“Not again,” she yelled. “Have I wronged these machines in a past life or something? Please don’t kill me, oh mighty metal warriors! I, for one, welcome our new robot overlords.”

The guard snapped alert and tried to call for backup on his comm. “Sector report, urgent! Please respond.”

Silence.

Seems like you’ve been locked out of the comm too. Yara stifled a chuckle and kept screaming, despite how much it hurt her throat. The loaders broke free of their docking units and lumbered toward the exit, following protocols provided by 9. One lone security officer couldn’t do shit against them, and as the large service droids stomped past, one of them knocked into the guard. He dropped his stunner while trying to land another shot with a laser weapon.

Quietly, Yara picked it up and tased the fuck out of him.

Hell. Yes. Score one for team damsel and droid. They never saw us coming.

9 zoomed over, knocking into the guard’s armored side. “Finish him. It will do us no good if he rouses to report your part in this uprising.”

The cleaning unit was right. Yara knew as much, but she’d never killed anyone. That had been left to Oren and Mom, and she felt bile rising in her throat at the thought of terminating another sentient being. Doing that horrified her so much that she almost asked 9 to do it, but then she shook her head, full of terrible determination.

This is for our future. I said I’d do whatever it took to ensure our happiness and our freedom. Those weren’t empty words.

Rationalizing, she told herself that a good person wouldn’t choose to work for ImTech. The corporation was known for its predatory practices and for developing technologies that ravaged worlds and destroyed whole populations. Then they sold those weapons to the highest bidder with no care for how they would be used or against whom.

At least we’ll sell to someone who’s fighting for a commendable cause.

Everyone thought their reasons mattered, however, and that they were the heroes, not the villains of the story. Yara couldn’t keep up the pretense. By anyone’s standards, we’re criminals. We’re the bad guys here. We’re stealing and we’ll use this tech to save our own asses.

Fuck it. I’m no hero. But I am a bad bitch who’d do anything for the ones she loves.

With trembling hands, Yara picked up the laser pistol and fired.

[  23  ]

NOW IT WAS GAIL’S TURN to deliver.

Truly, none of this would be possible without every member of the team. Oren fixed his gaze on the doors, currently withstanding an onslaught from the security team outside. Ironically, they’d been built to repel an assault, but apparently, the designers never imagined that sturdiness being turned against the station, protecting intruders as they worked.

Gail muttered and cursed as she tried and failed to interface with the bizarre tech. Oren could do nothing further to increase their probability of success. At this juncture, the best he could do was clear a path to the ship once she retrieved the schematics. The Greenspirit flinched each time a heavy object rammed into the doors, making them shudder. Explosives weren’t wise on a space station, but ImTech would resort to them if their technicians couldn’t defeat Gail’s cunning security cycler. Either way, it was a matter of time before the fighting began.

“I’m in,” she said at last.

As Gail accessed the closed network, the creature in the tank shuddered, jostling the connective tubes, and the doors blew wide open. Oren rolled forward, positioning himself for an ambush. Before he could attack, the Greenspirit said, “Hold your breath.”

And lobbed the canister of toxins they’d stolen from the guard. Most of the assault team hadn’t taken time to activate the filters on their helmets, and some didn’t even have them on, obviously called up in a state of colossal unreadiness. Half of the force fell in the hallway beyond, twisting, writhing, and clutching at their throats. Those who managed to get past the chokepoint were weakened and stumbling but still determined to earn their pay from ImTech. If he told them he was Toth Krag, some might flee, but he couldn’t risk their survival, scrambling off station to report his appearance. Besides, he wasn’t Toth Krag anymore, though the galaxy would soon learn that Dastoor Oren was every bit as much to be feared in his own skin.

The thing about an aerosol nerve toxin, however: the particles would spread. Gail wouldn’t be safe for much longer, as Durancz had applied the poison in a closed environment. I must protect her as I would Yara. How strange, it almost felt as if he had…kith again.

“I need more time,” Gail said in a desperate tone. “There’s too much data to sort through, and this thing communicates in a most unusual way.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Oren returned grimly.

Durancz rustled their fronds in what he took for agreement. “Hoping to plant my seeds on the homeworld someday. If not, this was a glorious effort. Has been an honor.”

Then the Greenspirit wove their fronds into a nearly impenetrable thicket of tangled vines, slowing the enemy’s movements when they tried to press forward. Oren had a limited number of shots in the laser pistol, so he had to make them count. He tripped the first guard and disarmed another in two rapid blows. He kicked at the weapon and caught it as it flipped into the air. Still moving, dodging the first shots fired, he shot back. The pistol singed his foe’s armor but didn’t break through; they still had safety settings active on their weapons. Oren disabled them and powered them to max. His next shots burned through their chest pieces. The guards screamed in agony as they fell, their wounds full of melting armor resin.

More shots blasted toward him, a blinding onslaught of laser fire. Oren used the brainframe for cover, keeping well away from Gail as she tapped frantically at the interface. Durancz had the same idea, blocking the path to their tech expert with a field of vines and brambles. The Greenspirit grew thorns and sickly yellow blossoms that oozed with strange, powdery spores. Guards that charged forward drew back in pain, their respirations becoming sharp and shallow, then they dropped.

“Apologies,” said Durancz. “Strong poison. Affects any creature who breathes. No opportunity for finesse.”

When Gail started choking, he snatched a helmet off the dead guard at his feet and tossed it to her. Her face was changing color by the time she got it on, and Oren helped her activate the filters just before the next wave of reinforcements arrived. He stole another helmet for himself and initiated the purification function just in time, as he felt the tightening in his lungs from breathing in traces of the Greenspirit spores.

Working in concert with Durancz, he snapped rapid shots at their helmets, shorting out their filters, and then—

Death. Swift. Painful. He watched as they twisted and rolled, limbs contorting as their bodies lost the battle with Greenspirit spores. Oren shot a few more as they rushed, and the bodies piled up. This was turning into the messiest job he’d ever participated in.

Finally, Gail said, “I have the schematics,” in a shaken tone.

At first, he thought it was because of the mound of corpses. If she wasn’t used to death, it could impact anyone, but when he turned, he saw that she was staring at the creature in the tank, not at what he and Durancz had done to the station officers. He glanced at the Greenspirit, who fluttered fronds as if to say they didn’t know either.

“What is it?”

“This creature…it spoke to me. When I was in the system.”

“What did it say?” asked Durancz.

“It asked me to let it die.” She glanced at the Greenspirit, twisting her small human forelimbs together. “Would your spores work?”

“Unlikely. It doesn’t seem to breathe, receives nutrients from the solution.”

Oren said, “We don’t have time for this.”

But then Gail gazed at him with eyes that were too much like Yara’s and whispered, “Please. Help me end the suffering.”

Oren swore in Lloshaan because apparently, he couldn’t refuse Yara’s maternal figure either. “I’ll shoot the tubes and the flesh. Shock should do the rest.”

Before reason took over and he reconsidered, he did exactly as he’d described. The thing in the tank trembled and swelled, then all the lights in the space flickered. The screens flashed wildly, and the scrolling data disappeared, replaced by two phrases, looping slowly.

THANK YOU

FAREWELL

Until they, too, went dark.

“Done here. Time to retreat,” Durancz urged.

We just killed…what?

For the first time, Oren couldn’t answer that question. It occurred to him that they’d also destroyed all the data stored in this abhorrent system. Such a catastrophic loss might even be enough to bankrupt ImTech. What a delightful twist.

Coldly amused, he vaulted the bodies and sprinted past the metal fragments of the blast door, leaping more corpses in the corridor beyond. All of the doors stood open now as if security had been in too much of a hurry to eliminate the intruders to follow proper protocol.

They never imagined we’d win.

His small squad fought sporadically on the way to docking in the maintenance area, and for some reason, there was wreckage everywhere, bot parts and sheets of metal. Char marks on the walls and floors made it clear something serious had transpired while they were in the brain room, but he had no idea what it might have been. And he couldn’t risk any remaining forces tapping into their comm channel, so he didn’t contact Yara to inquire.

She’ll be waiting at the ship, as promised. If she’s not—if they hurt her…

If she wasn’t there, he’d blow up the station. He’d send Gail on with Durancz, WU-T2, and 9. There was no life for him anywhere without Yara Durcan. He’d done all this for her. For no one else. Because she asked and because she believed in his worth as a being, who deserved happiness and love.

Wait for me, cherished one. I’m coming back to you soon.

“THEY REALLY SHOULD BE CALLED ‘Exploaders’ instead of loaders.” Surveying the debris, Yara went for the pun without an ounce of shame. Puns were life.

“Clarify,” 9 said.

She sighed a little, wishing Mom was here. She definitely would’ve laughed. “Never mind. I’d have to get into Earth spelling, and if you explain a joke, the magic is lost. Trust me, that was funny shit.”

“What is amusing about filth?”

Fucking translator. Or maybe the cleaning unit hadn’t programmed a sense of humor.

By this time, they were almost back to the ship, after an entertaining interlude watching the loaders march off and detonate in a display worthy of Independence Day. One of the units went out so big it caused a station breach, and from what she’d heard as the guards ran by, they honest-to-God thought the resistance was invading the facility.

Yara checked the docking area twice, then motioned 9 forward. As she ran, an armored figure stepped out of the shadow of a nearby ship. She froze. That looked like Toth Krag armor, but not the set they’d sold on Renzo. No, this suit was shiny and new, bearing none of the scorch marks or burns that Oren had suffered.

Ob shit. This is his successor.

“Yara Duncan,” new Krag boomed.

This is bad. This is really, really bad. If the guild had replaced Oren, it meant they planned to execute him and collect on Yara’s bounty from the Marjan Collective. There would be no miracle this time, no lonely alien warrior who had been traveling the galaxy in search of her. Well, that was what she told herself anyway.

“That’s me,” she said, careful to keep her hands in view. “You caught me, boss, fair and square. Do I get in your ship or whatever?”

Mom would be furious, but she was willing to go along if it would save her friends—no. Not friends. Family. With Mom, that was a no-brainer, but she felt that way about Oren, Durancz, and the bots too. We’re a weird-ass group but it works. I can’t let them get hurt.

“Capturing you is half the mission,” New Krag said.

Crap. I was afraid of that.

Before she decided how to proceed, footsteps rang out behind her. She closed her eyes, paying with all her might. Let it be guards. Not Oren. Not Mom. Not now.

But as she’d told Oren once before, the gods of luck either favored her hard or pied her in the face. There was never any middle ground. And this time? Pie. All fucking day. Pie.

Oren glared at his replacement, wrath blazing from every line. “Step away from Yara Duncan. Immediately.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” the mechanical voice returned. “Say farewell. Then I will expunge your pathetic choices and history of failure from guild records as if you never existed, Twelve. I shall supplant you in all ways.”

They had no weapons that would even scratch the military-grade mech suit New Krag had on. She cast a desperate look at Mom, but Gail didn’t move. Neither did Durancz.

Yara whispered two words to 9, hoping the cleaning bot would understand. As the bot moved, however, New Krag trained weapons on the little unit. “It’s a cleaning bot,” she said. “Do you think it’ll get solvent on your shiny war boots?”

Oren drew New Krag’s attention by dropping into a subservient position, his body folded forward, head down in a posture of complete submission. “Take me. Let the others go.”

“At least you know your place,” New Krag snarled. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this opportunity? How much I loathed living in your shadow. And it turns out you’re nothing, not even worth—” As the bounty hunter stepped forward and raised the weapon that would vaporize Oren, 9 zoomed in.

Durancz whipped a vine around the cleaning unit, and they tripped the badass Krag, who didn’t know how to use his toys as well as he should yet. The bounty hunter stumbled and wound up on his back, firing wildly at the ceiling. Without missing a beat, Gail whipped out her terminal, and her fingers raced as she worked.

“Docking bay doors?” Yara guessed.

They snapped open, and New Krag went sailing into vacuum. Reacting at once, Oren grabbed Yara and 9 while latching onto some jagged metal on the floor. It groaned and gave, but the Greenspirit was there, lashing everyone together in a strangling if secure embrace. The foliage and thorns cut into her flesh, and she went dizzy from the blossoms tangled up in Durancz’s fronds. A few of their limbs snapped off, rushing outward along with New Krag. That asshole was shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words over the groaning metal. A few ships started to slide, and Gail worked against gravity itself to restore order, one difficult tap at a time.

Once New Krag was gone, the doors sealed once more, leaving them in a shaky huddle. Yara grabbed Oren’s bloody claws and kissed them. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Not now. He’s not dead,” he cut in. “But we can finish the job in the ship.”

“Suggest recording Krag’s demise,” Durancz said. “Broadcast to make it difficult for the guild to reuse the name. Also, apologies for the bruises.”

Yara crawled out of the brutal group hug that had saved all their lives. “No worries. And thank you. We never could’ve done this without you.”

The Greenspirit fluttered, a verdant sweetness wafting from their fronds. “Enjoyable, being part of a team. Would consider sticking around if you foresee more work in our future.”

“We can’t let him call his ship,” Gail reminded them.

Yara glanced at Oren. “Is that even possible?”

“Yes. WU-T2, can you access controls using an old guild failsafe?”

“Checking, checking. Affirmative. What would you like me to do?”

“Turn off remote access and overload the fuel cells.”

“Shit. That will take out half the docking bay,” Yara said.

He flashed her a look that would have melted her panties if she’d been wearing any. “Then be quick, beloved.”

Oh damn.

As a group, they rushed onto their ship while WU-T2 kept New Krag from calling for his ride. The bounty hunter would have some breathable air in the suit, not much. Time to finish this. The grim thought surprised her, but she’d changed just as Oren had since they got together. He paused a little before murdering someone, and she…well. She sometimes felt it was necessary.

“When all this is over, let’s buy a bigger ship,” she suggested.

“Love that. Need a real arboretum,” said Durancz.

“Departing now,” Oren told WU-T2.

The droid interfaced with 9, and the two droids got the bay doors open again, then their ship swooshed out of ImTech Station, leaving a hell of a mess behind them. Yara locked onto New Krag, helplessly tumbling some distance from the station. He was trying to use rocket boots to steer back to the metallic rings, but he wasn’t having much luck, tumbling ass over tea kettle each time he tried to right himself.

Gail gestured to the final enemy standing between them and a clean getaway. “First, let’s shoot some skeet.”

“The translator wasn’t clear, but I believe you wish to terminate him,” Oren said.

“You can do it. He’s trying to take over your life, after all.” Mom stepped away from the controls, offering Oren the kill with a flourishing gesture.

“That was never my life, more of a life sentence,” he responded.

“I’ll do it,” said 9.

The cleaning droid seemed to be in the system already, working in tandem with WU-T2, and the ship fired as Durancz recorded the moment for posterity. Next, the Greenspirit sent the holo message to every public node they could find—THE DEATH OF TOTH KRAG. Yara laughed softly; the bounty hunter guild would be so pissed.

“We did it,” she said. First quietly, and then she repeated it on a victory yell, punching the air in triumph.

And we’re all here. All alive.

She threw herself at Oren, who caught her, but he seemed puzzled about what she expected. In answer, she kissed the gland on his jaw. He trilled.

“WU-T2, these coordinates—set a course,” Oren said then. “We’ll rendezvous with our buyer and then…”

The happily ever after.

[  24  ]

THE RENDEZVOUS WAS SET NEAR Tiralan, and Oren hoped the buyer could be trusted.

After putting out subtle inquiries, Gail had received a nibble from one who seemed to be suitable in all respects. They had insisted that the schematics be kept off the holo-net, demanding a personal exchange instead. While he understood that caution, it also created an opportunity for an attack. They’d barely lost ImTech pursuers by making several unrelated jumps after an emergency stop for fuel, and Gail had deployed a virus in their system to scrub all traces of their team from station surveillance.

“Where are we headed?” Yara asked.

In answer, he gestured, shifting the holo map to display the star cluster where their buyer should be waiting. This time, it didn’t even surprise him when she nestled into his side. Humans liked close contact, and her smell brightened when he tucked her against him, reveling in the precious heat she shared with him. Unlike his, her body temperature appeared to be constant, always radiating warmth like a pocket sun.

“We have time to rest.” That wasn’t what he had in mind, but Yara was good at analyzing the subtext in his intentions.

“I’ll wash up and join you shortly.”

Yara came to him soon, as promised, and he pounced on her, at the mercy of wild emotions born of fear from seeing her face down the new Toth Krag. At seeing her offer to follow Krag—for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. He held her with fierce hands, rubbing his jaw glands all over her tender skin. Mine. Always. Mine.

“You were going to leave me,” he accused, now that they were finally alone.

“To save you, not because I wanted to.”

“I don’t ever wish to hear those words again,” he said. “You have become the air that I breathe. My hearts beat for you, and I cannot exist without you, tiny nightmare.”

“Good thing you don’t have to. Come here. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Let’s not worry about how things could’ve gone wrong, now that we’re safe on the other side.”

“A wise suggestion.”

Oren was finally getting used to her desire to huddle during her sleep cycle, and he didn’t find it difficult to drift into dreams with Yara curled against him. In fact, it felt like he’d hardly rested at all when 9 cut in with a curt announcement:

“Approaching coordinates. Gather to complete transaction.”

“We should get 9 a better mobile platform,” Yara said.

Oren agreed. “I shall add it to the list.”

A ship was already waiting, and as agreed, Oren allowed a docking tube to connect to their external hatch. The buyer crossed fearlessly, and he stared when he recognized the Tiralan. Unless he was mistaken—and his hunter’s senses rarely were—this was one of those he’d let go, the one who’d pleaded for their mate’s release.

“Helix,” the Tiralan said. “In case you’ve forgotten. Do you have the schematics?”

“We do,” Gail said.

“Allow me to verify.” It wasn’t a request but a demand.

When Gail glanced at Oren for approval, he said nothing, too stunned by this development to react. The human went ahead with the appraisal as Yara whispered, “Are you well? What’s wrong?”

“This is…unexpected,” he noted.

Helix responded, “Life often is. I never expected to be made of meat, but here we are. It’s not all bad.”

“What am I missing?” Durancz asked.

Oren thought this wasn’t the time. “I’ll explain everything later. What will you do with this device? From what Gail said, it could be devastating.”

“No question,” Helix agreed. “The way it’s designed, it could break a whole planet apart, killing the entire population and exposing rare elements in the planetary core to be mined.”

“Why do you want this?” Yara demanded.

“In the short term, to stop others from using it. I have the resources to save a few worlds, and so I should. I’ll analyze the schematics and see if I can repurpose it, make it less destructive but still useful to the resistance.” The Tiralan had been skimming the data file all this time, at a speed Oren found both impressive and incomprehensible. “Everything appears to be in order. I’ll transfer the credits immediately.”

Oren peered at his comm, and soon he received confirmation of the payment. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Likewise. I ought to get home. My mate doesn’t know that I left Tiralan, and she’ll be unhappy with me for keeping her in the dark.”

“Get her a present,” Yara suggested.

Helix’s head tendrils quivered. “I’m the best gift she’ll ever receive.”

Soon after, Oren escorted the Tiralan to the hatch with a brief farewell. Then he divided up the shares under Durancz’s watchful supervision. The Greenspirit might have warmed up to the group in general, but they clearly didn’t trust anyone when it came to getting paid. Gail stared at her balance with evident disbelief, and Yara immediately sent payment to the Marjan Collective. She also recorded a holo message for Volant’s.

“Thank you for taking care of me when I had no useful skills. I’ve cleared the debt you incurred in my name, and I now consider us even. Good luck, Tu-san. Take care, Doktro.”

That was far kinder than Oren would’ve been. If anyone had borrowed under his name, putting his life in jeopardy, he would’ve hunted them to the end of the galaxy and made them pay in blood. Yara isn’t like me. Putting aside those thoughts, he sent payment in full to the guild, a sum they’d never imagined he would earn. He also included a brief message, along with the footage of New Krag dying in vacuum.

“I owe you nothing. If you continue this vendetta, it will end badly. Waste no further resources and delete my name from your records.”

Confirmation came soon after. “Acknowledged. You have no affiliation with the guild.”

Yara let out a happy sound, and she commenced wriggling in a baffling fashion. She grabbed a few of Durancz’s fronds and twirled under them. The Greenspirit cooperated though they clearly had no more idea of what she was trying to do than Oren did.

“It’s a celebratory ritual,” Gail explained softly. “She’s happy.”

That, Oren understood. “As am I.”

“I have sent my share to the resistance,” 9 announced.

“As have I,” WU-T2 said.

It spoke well of the team that nobody had argued about the droids each receiving a full share, as the mission would have failed without them. “Did you pay your debt on Erebus Station?” he asked Durancz.

“All clear with a fair amount left. I’ve never had this much before.” The Greenspirit hesitated. “Did you mean it? When you said, we should stay together.”

“Definitely,” Yara said.

Gail moved her head, an affirmative gesture. “I agree. We make a fantastic team, and now I can’t imagine it any other way.”

Oren found himself saying, “We executed an impossible heist. That makes us the ultimate team. It would be foolish to go our separate ways now.”

“I am rather used to all of you,” 9 said.

WU-T2 bumped into the cleaning droid. “You can admit that you like them. Some organics are tolerable.”

9 rotated. “That is a subjective statement. ‘Like’ is not—”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say it.” Yara patted the cleaning droid. “You’re an excellent partner. I appreciate you.”

“You as well,” 9 said in a grudging tone.

Gail headed over to the holo map, gazing at it with her head tilted. “Where should we go now? Nobody’s chasing us anymore.”

“Renzo,” Yara answered at once.

“Why Renzo?” the Greenspirit asked.

YARA UNDERSTOOD WHY THE REST of the team was confused.

“Because it’s the perfect place to gear up and we need to pay for the transport we blew up. Otherwise, we’ll be banned from the best free market in the sector.”

“She has a point,” Gail said.

It made her happy when Oren said, “Take us there,” to WU-T2 without needing further explanation. On some level, she never stopped being amazed that someone so deadly, so powerful, followed her lead without hesitation. Yara Duncan, who never graduated college, who never had more than a fast mouth and a bunch of big ideas.

Elated, she dragged Oren off to bed and spent the entire journey showing him cool human sex stuff. He enjoyed most of it. Some things he thought were weird. They were apparently fairly tame on Lloshaa, though she still had questions about the male pregnancy with external fertilization remark he’d made once. Ah well, now she had nothing but time to learn.

Eventually, they landed on Lloshaa, and Gail started bossing everyone. “Pack everything. We’re selling the ship, remember.”

I never imagined I’d get to reunite with my mom like this. I never imagined I could ever be this happy.

Since it was cold as hell, they all suited up again, which entailed finding inclement weather gear that would work for Durancz, then packed the bits and bobs they’d accumulated during the long adventure. The droids almost froze up when they first rolled out onto the hard-packed snow, and she helped them into the new transport that came to collect them. Oren found the alien in charge of the settlement and made reparations before anyone could start throwing accusations around. He must’ve been generous because suddenly, they got VIP treatment. Yara decided she could get used to that.

Gail said, “I’ll go with 9 and WU-T2. I promised I’d help them both transition to more versatile bodies.”

Yara gave her mom a quick hug. “See you soon.”

Durancz said, “I’ll be over there, buying the necessities for the arboretum.”

Soon, it was Yara and Oren, as it had been in the beginning. She smiled up at him, aware that he couldn’t see it beneath her helmet.

“Let’s buy a ship,” he said.

“You’re such a smooth talker.”

They sold his original one first. It had served them well, but he wasn’t a lone wolf anymore. Since they’d agreed to stick together, now they needed a bigger vessel with space for everyone to feel at home. Since scavvers made a living of refurbishing wrecked starships, Renzo had a ton of options on offer, but Yara knew which one right away. Faintly ridiculous, but the design reminded her of her favorite science fiction game. Inside, it rang the dream-come-true bell even more. The space was well laid out with small private quarters for up to six crew members. Each pod was adaptable and could be configured for various alien physiologies. Ample space in the cargo hold, an empty bay for an arboretum, and decent levels of tech to make Gail happy.

“This one?” she asked Oren.

“This one,” he agreed.

Thanks to ImTech, they had enough to pay up front when they pooled their resources—with a little left from selling the other ship. The transaction didn’t take long, and soon, Yara had the documentation on her comm. She stared up at Oren, wide-eyed.

“You put my name on it. Why?”

“Because you said before how difficult it was with Volant’s. You weren’t allowed to own anything or open accounts. You felt like you weren’t a person. The same rules don’t apply on Renzo, there are no limitations based on species. It’s a truly free market. I don’t ever want you to feel that you have no recourse again. With me, you have all the power, tiny nightmare.”

Tears burned in her eyes. She couldn’t let them fall, or her eyeballs might freeze. Even indoors on Renzo, it was cold as hell. She blinked rapidly and said the only thing she could, the only truth she’d withheld, wanting to be sure. Wanting to be absolutely positive that it wasn’t a crush or fantasy-fulfillment or the adrenaline rush of fleeing from their pursuers.

“I love you,” she said. “So much. You’ve said so many sweet words to me, and I treasured them, but I was afraid to say them back. Now it’s my turn.”

“To what?” Oren asked.

“To make you understand that you’re not sun or air to me. You’re water, and humans die so quickly without it. I can’t even go a day without seeing your weird, wonderful face. I treasure everything about you, and I will spend the rest of my life making you understand that the best thing I ever did was follow you off Vaadla Station, no questions asked. I think you were always meant to come and find me. I just wish you hadn’t taken so long.”

“Tiny nightmare,” he breathed.

There was no passionate kiss because he didn’t like doing that, and if they tried to touch tongues, they’d probably stick together like kids who’d been dared to lick a metal pole in the middle of winter. Oren did pull her close because he’d learned to enjoy hugs, at least, and she could live with that. Love was about compromise anyway, finding the perfect balance between what he wanted and what she needed.

What she needed was a badass who would die for her, who would kill for her, who would give up anything for her.

And he had.

Now they had a freaking family together. Oh, it wasn’t how it looked in all the romantic movies. But families didn’t always mean biological children or normal pets. A family could also be her mother, a sentient plant with a gambling problem, and two faintly murderous droids. She couldn’t wait to see what the rest of their lives had to offer.

“I’ll have the ship cleaned and ready for departure by the time you’re done with the rest of your shopping,” the ship salesperson said.

The way the vendor was bundled, Yara couldn’t tell what sort of alien this was. Not a jelly or a plant, but otherwise, it wasn’t immediately obvious. Could be Barathi, or Tiralan, or something else entirely. Probably not a monkey-bat like she’d seen on Erebus, though. Space sure did have a lot of interesting sights, including so many she’d yet to experience.

With the last of their proceeds, they bought armor and weapons—because one never knew what was waiting—along with base organic to stock the food dispenser and ice to fill the onboard aquifer. By the time they finished, the ship was ready, as promised. She stared up at it as the others joined her.

The droids looked completely different. Talk about a full-body makeover. WU-T2 was tall and slim with graceful limbs shining in silver, and 9 had chosen a blocky configuration with multiple useful attachments. Both had weapons visible, a ship droid and a cleaning unit, both capable of defending their allies now.

“It’s beautiful,” Gail said. “Does it have a name?”

Yara smiled and hugged her mom through layers of cold-weather gear. “Home.”

Then they boarded the ship together, one at a time as if everyone could sense the gravitas of the moment. There were no limitations anymore, apart from those they imposed. Vendors with hover carts delivered all their purchases while thanking them profusely for their patronage.

In time, they were ready to depart with all systems checked, analyzed, and double-checked by Gail and the droids. Happiness swelled inside Yara until she almost couldn’t contain it. “Well,” she said. “Where to now?”

“About that,” Durancz said. “I didn’t want to assume anything, but I got word of an amazing score. It shouldn’t be too difficult for a crew like ours.”

Yara glanced at Oren, who gazed back with all the love in the world. “One last job?” she asked with a huge grin.

He activated the holo map. “One last job.”

Some people were destined for quiet loves, but she and Oren weren’t among them. The ship was their home, and the adventure would never be over until they drew their last breaths. Only death can take me from you, she thought.

They made the leap to lightspeed as they would do everything henceforth. Together. Always.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This will probably seem prosaic after some of the weird notes you’ve read from me in this series, but for Lloshaan physiology, I evolved a snake-lizard-alligator hybrid and researched interesting reptile penises. If you want more, check out ‘why snakes have two penises & why alligators are always erect’. It’s a National Geographic article and that’s where Oren’s junk came from. Well, there and my weird brain. You’re welcome. Also, you were warned. If you choose to dive down that rabbit hole, be prepared to learn some strange stuff.

In RENEGADE LOVE, I wanted to tell a heist story, but that’s harder than it sounds in a book. I had a blast writing these characters. It’s a morality chain story, a space heist, a love story, and basically, I crammed all the things I love in there, cover to cover. Since you’ve gotten to this point, you know how it ends. Now I’ll send another shout out to my son, Alek, who was brainstorming the ending with me, and said like an utter genius, “What if the inside man was an inside droid?” You know me, I love robot goodness, so I was all in, and that’s how 9 was born.

Anyhow, if you’re hungry for more of my brain fruit, head to annaguirre.com to subscribe to my newsletter. You can keep up with my news, book releases, and enter exclusive giveaways.

If you enjoyed RENEGADE LOVE, peruse my other work. I’ve written in many genres, so you should be able to find a book to suit your mood. Currently, I have a paranormal romance series that starts with THE LEOPARD KING and it’s finished! Ready for a binge read.

Finally, please consider leaving a review if you loved this story. Your feedback helps a lot, and it guides other readers to stories they’ll adore too. If you find errors in any of my books, please email authorannaguirre@gmail.com with details, and we’ll resolve the issue. Thanks so much for your time and support.