Not that Thalia was an expert on those.
Thalia worked her way through Sangrin Station, getting a feel for the crowd and the normal flow of traffic.
Lifting anonymous credit seemed like something best done in shady dives, down in the bowels of the station, but she knew better. The hard-up and the ones with a cavalier attitude toward the law were her people. You didn’t go fishing for a meal in shark-infested waters. Not that Thalia had ever even seen the ocean, let alone a shark.
Not the point. Focus.
Thalia found her hunting ground on the busy concourse between the commuter shuttles going to the planet’s surface and the cafés that feed the travelers. Everyone was in a rush, and no one paid attention to one small girl when she bumped into them. She steered clear of mothers struggling with kids because she had standards.
Very important businessmen yelling into their comm units were her favorite targets. Rich and expecting to be indulged, they always had a pocket stuffed full of anonymous credits for certain expenses on their business trip they did not want to report back to accounting. Better still, they wouldn’t snitch.
Thalia couldn’t be certain when she became aware of the big red guy following her. In a sea of purple people, red stood out. There were other alien travelers, even some with leathery wings that flexed and ensured a modicum of personal space, but the red guy stood out. She thought he was a Mahdfel, not that she considered herself an expert, but he had this air of authority as he watched the crowds that screamed Mahdfel.
Or maybe it was just his menacing face. He looked much like an orc that she saw in an old pre-Invasion movie, just red, and a lot frownier. Big, too. And a bit dangerous. Okay, a lot dangerous.
Just to make sure he followed her and it wasn’t wishful thinking, she took her ill-gotten credits into a clothing shop and emerged dressed a new, sensibly bland outfit to better disappear into crowds. With the hood of her new jacket up to cover her distinctive hair, she wove through the crowd. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him stalking after her, a grumpy scowl on his face.
Or maybe that was just his face. Hard to tell with aliens, especially big red ones with tusks in their lower jaws that pulled their lips into a permanent sneer.
Fucking hell, he was such a danger bang, and Thalia wished that dangerous guys weren’t her type. Then again, when had she had the opportunity to meet nice, docile guys? When Doc dragged her to every sleazy bar in the city? All that hot muscle that Nicky employed? None of those men had ever been worth the bother.
Thalia didn’t claim to be a blushing innocent. Those days were long gone, but she had never had a serious relationship. The idea of something real, something meaningful, appealed to her. She blamed the stasis chemicals making her brain muddy. Besides, it wasn’t like Mr. Danger Bang planned to woo her with flowers and candy. Guys like that were never serious with girls like her.
Still.
She glanced over her shoulder again to reassure herself that she still had her stalker. Maybe she put more swing into her hips; maybe it was the artificial gravity. Don’t judge.
This had to end. She’d never get the money she needed if he kept following her. He’d probably report her out to the space police or whatever they had on the station.
Thalia weaved through the crowds, not trying to shake Mr. Danger Bang but not making it easy. The crowds thinned, and the universally delicious aroma of grease and fat pulled her toward a diner.
The menu had a sticky, tacky texture, which Thalia took as a good sign. The best food came from dodgy kitchens. The menu had more pictures than words, which made sense for a space station. Thalia had no problem speaking or understanding people, thanks to the chip in her brain, but the chip proved less reliable for written stuff.
She pointed at the item that looked the most like fried chicken and ordered two portions. Anything fried would be amazing. The Mahdfel fed her and the other abducted women nothing but soup and some vitamin-infused super gelatin while they were held in medical. After the all-clear, they got real food that involved actually chewing, but Thalia had three years’ worth of cravings. She wanted a basket of chicken fingers, fries, a bucket of honey mustard for dipping, and even one of those gross dill pickles that always came on the side, even though no one ordered it.
The person at the counter brought out two containers, already packaged to go. Rather than squeeze in at the already crowded counter to eat, she wandered down to a plaza at the junction of three thoroughfares.
Light and greenery filled the space. The second level of shops ringed the plaza under a glass-like dome, which perfectly framed the planet below. Or above. Thalia needed a minute to wrap her head around the physics of being in a space station orbiting a planet.
From studying a map of the station, she knew that her current location on the atrium level sat atop several levels. Shops and cafés were at the very top, along with the entertainment venues. Classy stuff, hoity-toity night clubs, and even a theater, as far as Thalia could see.
The next level down were the commuter and short distance shuttles. Under that, offices, businesses, and rooms for the weary traveler to rent. Then the seedier entertainment, brothels and bars and rooms that rented by the hour. Commercial cargo was stashed near the bottom, along with warehouse space and the mechanical shop needed to keep all those vessels space worthy.
What waited in the lowest levels of the station, the map did not say, but Thalia figured it housed the mechanical guts and power supply of the station.
A fountain positioned directly under the dome created the central focal point of
