“Because this big red dude was chasing me. By the way, you’re not subtle. You might as well have been flashing a neon sign over your head.” Her eyes rolled. “There was a kid inside the shop selling candy as a fundraiser, which, I have to tell you, is weird to see in space. You’d think that an interstellar society would fund their schools better, but at least I got this.” She fished out a foil-wrapped square from a pocket. Unwrapped, the confection released a wave of sugar and chemical dyes. “I think it’s taffy. Want a piece?”
“I will not partake of your criminal deeds,” Havik spat.
“My standards are flexible, and I like candy. I’m Ren, since someone has no manners. Pleasure to meet you.” Ren stuck out a hand in a Terran greeting.
“Thalia.” She broke off a piece for Ren, the traitor, and one for herself. “Fizzy,” she said, chewing the piece of ill-gotten confection. “So, you have a job for me as human bait?”
The warlord ignored the female’s insolence. He ran a hand along his damaged horn and even seemed amused.
Havik did not know how to process this information.
“Seeran, if you will,” the warlord said.
“Yes. The big red one,” the other male said, stepping forward, “has come to track those who took you. He is, as you observed, not subtle.”
“I get results,” Havik said.
The warlord’s attention snapped toward him, all his mirth and good humor gone. “Yes. I have been told about your results, specifically ones that involve my engineer and endangering his mate.”
“I spotted a target of interest. I asked the engineer to assist me by following the target, because they would recognize me from a previous encounter,” Havik said. He neglected to mention that the original target had been Vanessa, who he followed from the Sangrin station down to the planet’s surface. Then he spotted a known associate of a smuggler.
“And when you were captured and the female endangered?”
Something inside Havik snapped. “She was my mate first! The engineer was too eager to please her, to show me up, that he became distracted and she was taken.”
The room fell silent.
“You did what?” Ren asked.
“You’re married?” Thalia asked.
Their questions came like a sudden flood of spring rain. Havik ignored them. Paax patiently waited for their noise to cease.
“Tell me what you learned,” Paax said to Havik.
“The crew is Sangrin, the ones that I recognized, but the captain of the vessel is Terran. I was able to observe the serial numbers on the vessel, so we can track it.” Havik closed his eyes, remembering the vessel and the warehouse. “The paint appeared to be smudged around the numbers.”
“They alter the serial numbers,” Ren added, excitement creeping into his voice. “That’s helpful. A few strokes can alter a number but too much fresh paint will call attention to the alteration. If you can recall the numbers, I can run a simulation and predict the alterations.”
“I also have a witness, a Terran male. He was injured and is currently in the hospital on the planet’s surface.”
“Is this witness a smuggler, too?” Paax asked.
“I am unable to say. He was held captive. My mate—Jaxar’s mate—negotiated for his release.”
“Was this male destined for the auction block?”
“He had debts and had been injured as retribution. I cannot think there is much business in damaging a commodity.”
Paax absently went to stroke the severed horn, then jerked his hand away, as if in pain.
Fascinating.
Havik averted his eyes because he did not wish for the warlord to catch him gawking. If the horn pained him, why not cover it with a sheath?
“You want to know why I don’t cover my horn? Do not deny it,” the warlord said.
Stunned, Havik wondered if Paax could sense his thoughts. Was the warlord a foundling, a stolen child by the Suhlik and subjected to experiments? They had a legend on Rolusdreus, about a foundling who made his way back to his clan. He had been altered to carry a plague. Any who welcomed him soon grew ill. Never growing ill, the foundling wandered from settlement to settlement, searching for a home.
Only a cautionary tale and not historical fact, Havik still felt unnerved. He glanced at Ren, who stood at attention with his eyes forward but otherwise at ease. Very well. Havik copied the stance. “I apologize. It is not my place to question you.”
Paax waved a hand, indicating that they could relax. “I lost my horn in the challenge that made me warlord. It was a good blow. While the nerves in the inner core are exposed, I will not dishonor the male who took my horn.”
The warlord admitted to a weakness. Havik did not know how to process that information. “My apologies for staring. My former warlord never tolerated questions.”
“Garu Kaos never tolerated anything short of worshipful praise. I’m amazed the male can move at all, considering the weight of his ego,” Paax said. “Besides, the entire clan witnessed the fight. To cover my horn would be vanity.”
“Kaos is more concerned with the appearance of strength than practicing it,” Ren said. Havik nudged his friend’s boot with his foot. “What? Are we pretending that it’s a secret why we left?”
“I am not here to gossip about my previous warlord. I do not gossip.” Havik hoped Paax understood that whatever he saw in the warlord’s clan, he would keep confidential.
The warlord shared a look with Seeran and the male moved as if prompted by an unspoken command. He withdrew a tablet from a pocket. The device unfolded on the table and the screen glowed. “You were sent here because a week ago, our clan received a distress signal from a cargo vessel. When we arrived, the cargo vessel was under attack from a marauder.”
“Space pirates, no shit?” Thalia asked.
Seeran flicked his fingers across the screen and a tablet projected a holographic video of two ships. One ship, ragged in appearance, fired upon the other. Without warning, the
