“We’ve got company. We need to move now.”
Before she could answer, the console behind her bleeped. She yanked her gaze from Zero’s back to the screen.
Message downloaded. Thank you for your business.
“Done,” she replied, yanking the data-strip from the port. It glowed green at one end to indicate a successful transfer. She shoved it into her pocket. She’d have to listen to it later… when they weren’t in imminent danger.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to Zero as he hustled her across the room toward the door. She didn’t look but she felt the clerk’s eyes on her all the way.
“The rest of the cre—” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The sound of a firefight back the way they’d come made both their heads snap around, one particularly loud and very human voice bellowing obscenities.
“Fucking hell!” Zero hissed, as they both took off at a run. “I swear I’m going to fucking throttle that bloody human.”
The flea market, much to Skinny’s disappointment, had nothing to do with fleas after all. Even though both the humans had assured him they were in fact joking and they didn’t actually breed fleas, he’d still held out hope for something… anything… exotic.
But no. The back-street market on Praxis-Four was just the same as every grotty back-street market in the ass-end of any system. They all had them, those places on the fringes of existence where the desperate and the morally corrupt congregated. Some days it was hard to tell which was which.
“Anyone gets eyes on Beauty, yell,” T’Raal ordered, motioning for them to split up. His grim demeanor was a reminder that they didn’t need to watch their asses. They were all well aware that technically they were operating behind “enemy” lines. Most of them were Lathar of some kind, even Red… though no one reminded her that without either a large amount of alcohol and liquid courage in their system, or a foolproof escape plan… and the empire in its infinite wisdom had banned any incursion into Terran space. Yeah… they were breaking all kind of rules on both sides of the fence even being here.
Skinny rolled his shoulders as he moved off toward the north sector of the market, making sure his heavy jacket sat loosely on his shoulders. He needed easy access to his weapons. Praxis-Four was Terran, but he knew better than to discount any of them as a threat. Humans could be just as mean as any Lathar, and given the right encouragement or enough alcohol, they’d take on fights they knew they couldn’t win.
Just… because.
“D’ya think you’ll need them guns, squire… or will your withering gaze decimate your enemies instead?” a mocking voice sounded at his side.
Skinny bit back a sigh. Sparky. Just his luck, the lone human had decided to latch on to him.
“Just staying loose,” he replied, turning and sweeping a gaze around. Stalls were crammed in cheek to cheek, and each of the vendors tried to yell over their competitors.
“Penny ‘ah pound, get yer fresh vat-grown veggies ‘ere!”
“‘Gi Sausages! The best pseudo-protein on the planet!”
“Iso-taurine drops! Keep them levels up!”
He drowned the noise out and focused instead on searching the crowds for the familiar form of their missing crew member. Well… not technically missing since they knew Beauty was here somewhere. He also had a habit of doing this, going on walkabouts. The quietest member of the mercenary team, none of them really knew that much about him. Not that they needed to. Like the rest of them, he’d been brought into the Warborne by T’Raal.
Apparently, he’d been a fighter in the combat pits in the hellholes of Tarviisa. The place was a cesspit where flesh of any kind could be bought, whether that be for fighting, fucking, or killing. There were no rules on Tarviisa. Even imperial warriors didn’t linger long lest they find themselves on the wrong side of those pit barriers.
According to T’Raal, Beauty had fought in the pits for over five years. Skinny shuddered. After living through a nightmare like that, the guy could be forgiven for being a little on the quiet side and preferring the company of his books.
Books.
“Hey,” Skinny slid a glance at Sparky. “Where would you get books in a place like this?”
“Huh?” Sparky struggled to tear his attention away from something, and Skinny sidestepped to see what he was looking at. Only to spot Red bent over as she checked out some mechanical do-dad that had caught her eye a couple of stalls down.
Skinny gave a low whistle. “Yeah… that there’s a road to bruises and broken bones, my friend. If Red wants you, believe me, she’ll let you know.”
“Yeah?” Sparky cut him a sharp look. “You ever done her?”
There was real jealousy behind the tone. Skinny laughed and backed up, hands in the air. “Gods no, she’d eat me alive. Oh, I’m so sorry—”
He broke off as he was jostled from behind. Spinning around to apologize, his words trailed off as he found himself looking into the brightest pair of amber eyes he’d ever seen. Their owner was a tiny human female, masses of dark hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate hairdo that he instantly wanted to ruin by shoving his hands through it.
“No, no…” She smiled, and he was lost, reduced to speechless wonder at the heavenly symphony of her voice. “Totally my fault,” her voice rose a little and she lifted a hand, halting the motion of the two men with her toward him. Belatedly he realized they must be her bodyguards. “Please, accept my apologies. Mr...”
“Errrr… Altav,” he answered, surprised enough to give his real name.
She smiled and he got it together enough to notice she was dressed far better than most of the other market-goers. The dress that swathed her curvy figure looked expensive and the jewels around her neck… he was surprised she managed to walk around a place
