“That makes no sense. The cargo vessel did not suffer the kind of damage to cause such an explosion,” Ren said.
“Sabotage,” Seeran said. “The cargo vessel smuggled sentient beings. The distress call was manufactured to keep the true nature of the ship’s cargo from the crew. The marauder intercept was arranged. Our presence there was by chance and unfortunate for the smugglers.”
The female leaned forward; her gaze fixed on the looping video.
The warlord spoke, “We seized the marauders’ vessel and discovered several stasis chambers. Despite the data systems being dumped, we were able to recover a communication log, the cargo vessel’s manifest, and a record of the most recent ports of call. I believe you can pursue this information faster than I and without the Council’s constant demands—”
“Which ship was I on?”
The female’s question interrupted the warlord’s debriefing.
“Pardon?” Paax asked.
“The cargo vessel or the pirate ship? That footage is my rescue, right? Me and the other women. Who had me? Where did you find me?” Her hand curled into a loose fist, pressed against the base of her throat.
The warlord’s expression softened. “We recovered your pod from the debris of the cargo vessel.”
She paled. What precious little color she had drained away alarmingly fast. “I was adrift? Like, in space? Is that why,” she wiggled her fingers at her head, “I have brain fog? Those fuckers gave me brain damage. I mean, I knew they did, but I didn’t think I was floating in space with all the blown-up garbage. How did you even find me?”
Havik acted on instinct. He took her hand in his and stroked the back with his thumb. Her breath fluttered in her chest, on the verge of panic, but her heart remained steady.
Her hand squeezed his. This pleased Havik more than he could explain.
“Your stasis unit was undamaged and had its own power supply. The brain fog,” Paax said, in a reassuring tone, “is due to the prolonged exposure to the stasis chamber, not a power malfunction.”
“Were there other pods?”
The warlord looked to Seeran for the answer. “Yes,” Seeran said slowly, as if weighing his answer. “Four in total. Yours was the only functioning recovered pod.”
Her shoulders slumped but she never let go of his hand. “You figured out where those assholes were going?” she asked.
“We have their destination. It is a station near the edge of the Sangrin system,” Paax said.
“And you want me to be bait. I’m just going to wander around this station and hope I get kidnapped? That is such a bad plan. How are you going to track me? Let me be a plant and go undercover. I’ll gather the good intel.”
Havik shared a look with Ren, as his friend had studied Terran culture. Surely this was a translator error. “Vegetation?”
“Remember, your translation chip has tracking capabilities,” the warlord said. He tapped a spot just behind his ear to demonstrate.
The female mirrored the action. “The smugglers won’t detect it?”
“No. It is Mahdfel technology, and that function is not shared with civilians.” The warlord pushed the tablet toward Havik. “You have the information. Devise a suitable plan. Bring back actionable information. Earn your place in my clan.”
Chapter 8
Thalia
Aliens were dumb. At least, these aliens were dumb.
Okay, that was harsh, but if they thought she could just wander into a hive of villainy to get kidnapped by smugglers without looking like a complete trap, they were out of their extraterrestrial minds. Even if it worked, she’d be shoved back in a freezer for who knows how long, which couldn’t be good for her brain.
Havik walked too fast. She hustled behind him, trying to keep up but his long legs had a significant advantage over her shorter ones. The crowd parted around him, so that was one advantage of following a big grumpy alien and she’d call the view of his muscular ass the second advantage. The Mahdfel might be genetically engineered super soldiers with a superiority complex and a tactless way of talking down to lesser beings, but there was nothing wrong with the packaging.
“So, you arrested someone today? A target of interest,” she said, pitching her voice low to mimic Havik’s dry delivery.
He ignored her. That would not do.
“Do you have a plan? Or are you going with the chum-in-the-water approach? I mean, that might work, and I am rather chummy. It’s a byproduct of my sparkling personality. Get it? Chummy.”
His fingers flexed. Okay, it wasn’t the greatest joke in the universe, but she was aiming more for annoyance than gut-busting, knee-slapping humor.
“Come on. That’s a little funny,” she said.
The other man, the one who introduced himself as Ren, slowed his pace to walk beside her. “I found it amusing.”
Havik turned abruptly on his heel. “Do not speak to her,” he said, jabbing a finger into Ren’s chest. His bottom teeth, the tusks that jutted upward, were a stark white against the deep brick red of his skin. Irritation made his eyes darken, and Thalia very much never wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare.
Ren grinned up at Havik, his lock of white hair a slash across his face. “And why is that?”
“She is a thief and a liar.”
“Nothing more?”
Havik huffed, then spun away. The crowd scattered.
“I really hope his plan isn’t to toss me into a pit of pirates and hope one of them carries me off to their secret lair,” she muttered.
“Are you a thief?”
“Definitely, but only for survival reasons. No fun. Only profit.”
“And a liar?”
She dug her hands into the hoodie’s pockets. “It doesn’t matter what I say. You won’t believe me.”
“Come along. He is upset enough to leave port without us,” Ren said.
They pushed through the crowds and took a ramp down to the lower levels, to the actual docks.
Shiny examples of high-end personal transport mixed with the plain but functional aesthetic of cargo vessels. Thalia had never even been on a ship or off-planet—until recently, obviously—but she had been to the dockyards plenty of times. Nicky did
