“I say you can find an ideal genetic partner in yourself and do some vigorous breeding,” another of the gang members snapped, fingering his cauterizer. Some of his buddies laughed.
“Clever, which means you must've heard it from someone smarter than you.” Barix finally glanced at Lana thoughtfully, although he didn't offer any sort of reassuring expression or gesture to her continued silent pleading. “New offer . . . take twenty, or I contact this young woman's people and they send half a dozen combat androids after you to retrieve her. You wouldn't think someone of her obvious value would be allowed to just get taken by the likes of you?”
The laughter among her captors died out, and the man holding her took a threatening step forward, dragging her along with him. “I think I'll go with this instead, Ishivi,” he growled. “We usually don't see your kind at all, since splicers never deign to grace us “lesser” humans with your presence. Especially not wandering off on your own without an army of constructs to protect you. And from what I've heard, plenty of people are willing to pay top dollar for your supposed superior genetics.”
The leader paused with a derisive snort, eyeing Barix's slight frame with contempt. “Although looking at you, I have a hard time seeing what's so great about you. But since you've pissed me off I think I'll just grab you, too. Make an even better profit off this encounter.”
Lana was impressed to see that Barix still didn't look worried, even though the gang was now maneuvering to circle him, weapons ready. “Did you know, the median intelligence of “my kind” is as much higher than yours as yours is above the mentally challenged?” the slight man said cheerfully. “And I'm near the top end of Ishivi, while you all look to be at the bottom end of mongrels, so the gap is even more pronounced. You honestly think I'd walk into a situation that was out of my control?”
The Ishivi finally allowed his hands clasped behind his back to drop to his sides, reaching into a pouch at his belt and withdrawing a small, flat metal disk. “Final offer,” he said cheerfully, although a clear note of menace had crept into his tone. “You give me your new acquisition for twenty chits, or I detonate this aerosol dispersal grenade containing an experimental retrovirus I created, which coincidentally I've been looking for an opportunity to test. It'll scramble your DNA in unique and amusing ways.”
He paused, lips curling cruelly. “Well, not so amusing for you . . . for you it'll be an excruciating torment you'll pray for death to escape. But for me, watching the various ways you all slowly die in horrific pain sounds hilarious.”
Lana gagged as the hand clamped around her throat tightened, a sign of her captor's sudden alarm. She'd already been struggling for breath, but now saw black spots forming at the edges of her vision, which slowly began to go red.
“Boss,” one of the others said uneasily. “I don't really want to get my genes scrambled. My grandma always told me not to screw with splicers.”
She kicked her feet weakly, mouth open and lungs convulsing as she fought to get air.
“I think your dear old granny meant that literally, since we'll take your genetic material to do void knows what with,” Barix said, amused. “Although considering your gutter filth genetic line, she probably wasn't speaking from experience. But yes, on the other hand, you don't want to cross us, either. Speaking of which . . .” he looked at the group's leader, pointedly shifting his grip on his device. “I'm losing patience.”
Lana felt herself passing out just as the man holding her snarled, “Fine, twenty chits. Take her!” Then she was flying through the air, dropping towards blackness and the ground at the same speed.
Thankfully, she fell unconscious first.
* * * * *
Aiden tucked the anonymous banking deposit slip into his pocket, then walked briskly out of the last financial institution he'd needed to visit to safely disperse the proceeds of his deal with Harran. All in all, this had been a fairly lucrative visit.
The mechanic's people had already come and unloaded the Last Stand's cargo bay, and now that the rest of his business was taken care of he was ready to return to his ship. Pretty much right on time, too.
He couldn't complain, but no reason to overstay their welcome; spaceports could be dangerous at the best of times for him and his crew, considering the ship they flew around in and the prices on all their heads. Midpoint was worse than most, honestly, about the worst there was, and smart people didn't linger longer than they had to.
Speaking of which . . . he should probably stop off by one of his contacts and check in to make sure Lana had made it safely back aboard the Last Stand. Or, far less likely, had found some opportunity on this filthy waystop that offered her a good chance for a new life.
His contact wasn't too far out of the way on his route back, thankfully. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two. As Aiden headed in that direction he canted his head to activate his headset mic, speaking to all crew. “Furlough's over, head back to the ship. We leave in fifteen minutes, with or without you.”
“Present and accounted for aboard ship,” the gunner immediately replied, the slightest hint of reproof in his clipped, disciplined voice. Aiden ignored him.
“I'm coming,” Belix said, voice breathless. “Also, I'm on my way.”
He ignored her as well.
“I might be a few minutes late,” Barix chimed in, for some reason also breathing hard. “I've got a heavy parcel I have to lug back.”
Aiden scowled at his mic. “Then I hope you and your parcel enjoy an extended stay on this station.”
“If you say
