Red gave an apologetic grin. “Sorry, forgot most people don’t speak engineering nerd. Basically, your suit now has a thin layer of stretchy metal armor as well. If it takes a hit, the nanolayer registers the shock of the impact and reinforces itself at that point for a millisecond. It flows to where it’s needed and then resets itself. Kind of like when you punch sand, it hardens for a moment?”
Eris nodded. She’d never been near sand nor felt any desire to punch it, but the explanation made sense.
“Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. So… when can I take her for a test drive?” she asked, itching to get behind the “wheel” again.
Red chuckled. “You sound like you’re Warborne born and bred. As soon as Tal signs you off, she’s all yours. Promise.”
The trade outpost on Praxis-Four was quite possibly the shittiest location Eris had ever seen. And that was with a career filled with being stationed in shitty places. Hell, she’d even take the ice-moons in the Trinaxis system over this place, which was saying something.
Praxis-Four was a desert planet, but not the nice type filled with picturesque golden sand dunes and sparkling oases. No, it had the honey-badger version of sand. Sand that got all up into everyone’s nooks and crannies and totally didn’t give a shit. It was the kind of sand that only needed a little encouragement and a slight breeze to shot-blast flesh from bones. Which was the reason she and the rest of the Warborne landing party had every square inch of skin covered.
Each of them wore a heavy coat over their ship suits, which, she was amused to discover, bore the logo of an outer system gas haulage company. Pant legs were tucked into boots and sleeves into gauntlets to cut down any access the sand might find on the walk from where they’d hidden the shuttle out in the dunes to the outpost. Scarves and goggles covered their heads and eyes, all their features hidden. They blended in with the other inhabitants of the outpost, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been worried she’d be spotted and recognized from the wanted announcements, or that the Warborne would be identified as aliens.
She needn’t have worried. No one gave them a second glance as they walked along the main street. Well, nothing more than was normal for a hauler crew from out of the system anyway. They attracted the usual level of attention. Eyes watched them from the shadows and shielded doorways, assessing whether they could be lured down a side alley and relieved of whatever valuables they were carrying.
That interest waned when Skinny and Zero brushed aside their outer coats, revealing heavily loaded weapons belts. Suddenly they became less interesting than the sand that swirled and danced around their ankles as they headed for the central plaza of the outpost.
“Anyone have a bead on the hole Beauty’s likely to have disappeared down?” Skinny asked over comms, his voice deep and rich in her ear. His tone and inflection were almost spot-on for Terran. During casual conversation she wouldn’t have picked up he was an alien, but the more she listened to the Warborne talk between themselves, the more she picked up the odd inflections and phrasing that marked them as non-Terran speakers.
Except Zero. His speech patterns were entirely human. It must be because of his cybernetics. He’d only told her a little about his internal systems, but if half of what he’d said was true, he wouldn’t have any problem picking up languages.
“He said something about checking out the market,” Red replied. “Something about getting some Terran history books or something.”
There was a collective groan from the others.
“Again?” Skinny shook his head. “He’ll have to sleep on the damn things soon.”
“He can download books from the communal servers,” Eris commented. “If it’s real books he’s after… yeah, he might get something from the flea market. There’s usually one in places like this.”
Skinny turned. Even though his face was covered, the horror was evident in his voice. “Terrans sell fleas? Seriously… what is wrong with you people?”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, hidden by her scarf. “Are you kidding me? There’s a big market for them.”
“Right on,” Sparky joined the fun, a glint in his eyes behind his goggles. “Pedigree bloodlines and all sorts. A good flea will cost you your left bollock and then some. Breeding tips are passed down through generations.”
“Fleas…” Skinny shook his head again, only to have T’Raal punch him lightly in the arm.
“They’re teasing you, you dumbfuck,” he chuckled and then turned to check. “You are teasing. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we’re teasing.”
“Awww fuckit,” Sparky grumbled. “We could have kept that going for hours!”
“Really, you all make it too fucking easy,” she laughed, enjoying the moment. It had been too long since she’d had this kind of camaraderie… fifteen years. Her humor faded and she nodded toward the comms tower. “I’m going to need to head there to pick up my message. Catch you all at the flea market?”
“I’ll come with you.” Zero moved to her side instantly, his tone firm. She didn’t argue. It would be kind of nice to have someone to watch her back for a change. Especially in a place like this.
“Cool,” T’Raal nodded. “Stay alert and on comms. Any problems, shout… lurve machine.”
Zero flipped him the bird and the three Warborne ambled off with Sparky, still laughing, in the direction of the flea market.
Despite their casual act, she noted the aliens still moved as a team, aware of each other and their surroundings as well as the human in their midst. It was easy to see they had military training, but nothing about them or the way they moved pinged her senses—either those from her former life as a soldier or her current one as a security chief.
Correction, former security chief, and now wanted criminal and suspected terrorist.
Shit, that was
