Havik

by Starr Huntress

So, to summarize, everything sucked.

  Well, not everything. The Mahdfel implanted a translation ship in her head and gave her new clothes and enough credits to sit at a bar and drink while feeling sorry for herself. They took Thalia and the five other women rescued from the slavers to the local authorities.

  The local police—space police? —were nice enough, but when Thalia couldn’t tell them anything useful about the auction or her purchaser, they bought her a ticket back to Earth and considered it a job well done.

  Okay, there were positives to the situation. Thalia idly shredded a paper napkin, making a list in her head.

  Pro: the Sangrin space police didn’t care where she went. She could go anywhere if she could afford a ticket. Or even stay at the station. Money opened a lot of possibilities.

  Con: she was broke with limited options to not be broke.

  Pro: she wasn’t the property of the shadowy alien who bought her. Huge pro. Double plus good.

  Con: the shadowy alien might come looking for her. Not good. So not good.

  Pro: she was a human in an alien bar, but no one was looking at her like she was that unusual, which meant she could blend in.

  She would also have to get over calling all the purple-skinned, horned people “aliens” because this was their turf, and she was the alien here.

  Pro: That afternoon, she picked up a bottle of hair dye. Twisting the dial on the container changed the color. She could finally get rid of the terrible green and go for something more ordinary.

  Pro: at least she had her health.

  Thalia snickered at another nugget of her mother’s wisdom, not that her mother had been particularly healthy. She enjoyed cigarettes too much for that. But the point remained. Thalia did not have brain damage from her extended time in the freezer, and all the scans the Mahdfel did proved that she did not have a parasite living inside her. There were so many bright sides to her situation that Thalia felt like a fucking ray of sunshine.

  The mangled remains of the napkin fell to the counter and she smirked. There was nothing wrong with her sense of sarcasm.

  “You gonna finish that or you are happy making eyes at it?” the bartender said.

  “I might be more enthusiastic if the glass wasn’t dirty,” she replied. The glass was clean enough, but it was the principle of the thing. Never take unnecessary sass.

  He huffed, amused. The light caught the silver caps he wore on the tips of his horns. “Clean costs extra.”

  “Or you could hire someone to wash the dishes who doesn’t mind working under the table.” Or for a surly dick, she thought but kept to herself.

  “You got a work permit?”

  “That’s not what ‘under the table’ means.” Of course she didn’t have a permit. Finding a temporary job would go a long way to her money issue, but it wasn’t happening there.

  Giving the bartender her best side-eye, she drained the mug and left.

  Havik

  He noticed the female as she moved through the crowd, her fingers reaching into pockets and pilfering unguarded credits. She was small, even for a Terran, and her hair looked diseased, as if it had been dipped in toxic sludge. It reminded him of the fetid sludge found at the bottom of a tainted well. Her pinkish-beige complexion looked sallow and unhealthy, likely from lack of sun, and her figure of lean lines held little interest to him.

  Still, he could not take his eyes off the ridiculous female. She had a way of moving, of pulling her shoulders in, that made her seem insignificant, forgettable, but the grace and purpose of motion could not be overlooked. She bumped into a target, stammering an apology, distracting with one hand while the other reached into an unguarded pocket. Then it was done, over before the target knew they had been robbed.

  No movement was wasted. Each gesture had intention. The female was a tiny, drab-looking predator stalking through her hunting grounds.

  Intrigued, he was thankful that Ren did not accompany him. Havik did not need to hear his friend’s mocking humor when he caught Havik watching the Terran female. He was done with females, especially Terran females.

  If Ren caught him staring after this drab-colored female…

  She dipped into a shop and emerged wearing nondescript black clothing. Outside the shop’s entrance, she paused, scanned the crowd, and her eyes rested on him for ten full seconds.

  The corners of her lips twitched into a nearly unnoticeable smile.

  Chapter 6

  Thalia

  Universal credit was fantastic, a true sign that Earth had moved into the future and was a player on the galactic stage. Just swipe your palm, press your thumb to a scanner, and have access to your money anywhere in the galaxy. Amazing.

  The same system also had access to your credit history, identity, qualifications and certifications, social media history, and potential criminal records. No privacy, basically. Just buying a simple cup of coffee opened a person’s entire life to a retailer and anyone else willing to buy that information.

  All those factors meant the market for anonymous credits thrived, either in card, stick, or coin form. And it didn’t have to be shady, thank you very much. A person could have a legitimate reason for keeping their spending habits secret, like buying gifts for a loved one. Can’t have the bank snitching on the trip to the florist and ruining the surprise, after all. It didn’t always have to be about hookers and blow.

  Not that Thalia was an expert on those.

  Thalia worked her way through Sangrin Station, getting a feel for the crowd and the normal flow of traffic.

  Lifting anonymous credit seemed like something best done in shady dives, down in the bowels of the station, but she knew better. The hard-up and the ones with a cavalier attitude toward the law were her people. You didn’t go fishing for a meal in shark-infested waters. Not that Thalia had ever even seen the ocean, let alone a shark.

  Not the point. Focus.

  Thalia found her hunting ground on the busy concourse between the commuter shuttles going to the planet’s surface and the cafés that feed the travelers. Everyone was in a rush, and no one paid attention to one small girl when she bumped into them. She steered clear of mothers struggling with kids because she had standards.

  Very important businessmen yelling into their comm units were her favorite targets. Rich and expecting to be indulged, they always had a pocket stuffed full of anonymous credits for certain expenses on their business trip they did not want to report back to accounting. Better still, they wouldn’t snitch.

  Thalia couldn’t be certain when she became aware of the big red guy following her. In a sea of purple people, red stood out. There were other alien travelers, even some with leathery wings that flexed and ensured a modicum of personal space, but the red guy stood out. She thought he was a Mahdfel, not that she considered herself an expert, but he had this air of authority as he watched the crowds that screamed Mahdfel.

  Or maybe it was just his menacing face. He looked much like an orc that she saw in an old pre-Invasion movie, just red, and a lot frownier. Big, too. And a bit dangerous. Okay, a lot dangerous.

  Just to make sure he followed her and it wasn’t wishful thinking, she took her ill-gotten credits into a clothing shop and emerged dressed a new, sensibly bland outfit to better disappear into crowds. With the hood of her new jacket up to cover her distinctive hair, she wove through the crowd. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him stalking after her, a grumpy scowl on his face.

  Or maybe that was just his face. Hard to tell with aliens, especially big red ones with tusks in their lower jaws that pulled their lips into a permanent sneer.

  Fucking hell, he was such a danger bang, and Thalia wished that dangerous guys weren’t her type. Then again, when had she had the opportunity to meet nice, docile guys? When Doc dragged her to every sleazy bar in the city? All that hot muscle that Nicky employed? None of those men had ever been worth the bother.

  Thalia didn’t claim to be a blushing innocent. Those days were long gone, but she had never ha
d a serious relationship. The idea of something real, something meaningful, appealed to her. She blamed the stasis chemicals making her brain muddy. Besides, it wasn’t like Mr. Danger Bang planned to woo her with flowers and candy. Guys like that were never serious with girls like her.

  Still.

  She glanced over her shoulder again to reassure herself that she still had her stalker. Maybe she put more swing into her hips; maybe it was the artificial gravity. Don’t judge.

  This had to end. She’d never get the money she needed if he kept following her. He’d probably report her out to the space police or whatever they had on the station.

  Thalia weaved through the crowds, not trying to shake Mr. Danger Bang but not making it easy. The crowds thinned, and the universally delicious aroma of grease and fat pulled her toward a diner.

  The menu had a sticky, tacky texture, which Thalia took as a good sign. The best food came from dodgy kitchens. The menu had more pictures than words, which made sense for a space station. Thalia had no problem speaking or understanding people, thanks to the chip in her brain, but the chip proved less reliable for written stuff.

  She pointed at the item that looked the most like fried chicken and ordered two portions. Anything fried would be amazing. The Mahdfel fed her and the other abducted women nothing but soup and some vitamin-infused super gelatin while they were held in medical. After the all-clear, they got real food that involved actually chewing, but Thalia had three years’ worth of cravings. She wanted a basket of chicken fingers, fries, a bucket of honey mustard for dipping, and even one of those gross dill pickles that always came on the side, even though no one ordered it.

  The person at the counter brought out two containers, already packaged to go. Rather than squeeze in at the already crowded counter to eat, she wandered down to a plaza at the junction of three thoroughfares.

  Light and greenery filled the space. The second level of shops ringed the plaza under a glass-like dome, which perfectly framed the planet below. Or above. Thalia needed a minute to wrap her head around the physics of being in a space station orbiting a planet.

  From studying a map of the station, she knew that her current location on the atrium level sat atop several levels. Shops and cafés were at the very top, along with the entertainment venues. Classy stuff, hoity-toity night clubs, and even a theater, as far as Thalia could see.

  The next level down were the commuter and short distance shuttles. Under that, offices, businesses, and rooms for the weary traveler to rent. Then the seedier entertainment, brothels and bars and rooms that rented by the hour. Commercial cargo was stashed near the bottom, along with warehouse space and the mechanical shop needed to keep all those vessels space worthy.

  What waited in the lowest levels of the station, the map did not say, but Thalia figured it housed the mechanical guts and power supply of the station.

  A fountain positioned directly under the dome created the central focal point of the plaza. A man tilted his head upward and stretched a hand to some unseen goal or person. Whatever material the statue was made of captured the light and practically glowed with it, like the man had been carved from starlight instead of stone. Water cascaded out from a pedestal at his feet, splashing into a circular basin. Thalia wondered if the statue represented a historical figure or one from mythology.

  Mythology, she decided. The features on the sculpture’s face were too fine and too perfect. Real people weren’t that perfect.

  Perched on the rim of the fountain, she dug into her meal. The not-fried-chicken had a golden crispy batter but a flaky, fish-like texture to the meat. Tasted good, though. Her chicken fried fish-thingy came with wedges. They looked like potato wedges, even had a starchy texture, and tasted of practically nothing but salt. All she needed was a sweet tea and some honey mustard sauce to round out the meal.

  She chewed slowly, enjoying the indulgence of greasy food accompanied by the soothing sound of the fountain. Some people lingered on benches, drinking from disposable cups or eating a quick meal, but most people hustled through the plaza and never glanced at the fountain or the amazing view through the dome.

  Awareness of being watched pricked along the back of her neck.

  Ah, Mr. Danger Bang.

  “Are you going to join me, or are you happy just being a creep?”

  Havik

  “I do not dine with thieves,” he said.

  The female frowned. Her lips were a pale buff, the exact shade of old stone warmed by the morning light. Not that he noticed. Not that he cared.

  “Well, that’s awful judgmental of you. More for me,” she said, popping a morsel into her mouth. She chewed with exaggerated pleasure, humming, and waggling her shoulders. “You a cop or something?”

  “No.”

  “Space police?”

  “Do not be absurd.”

  She licked her fingers clean, her sharp eyes never leaving him. “I bet you are. You totally look like a space cop.”

  The female patted the space next to her. He did not move. A slow grin spread across her face—the grin of a warrior sizing up the competition. It should not have transformed her dull beige face into something worth admiring, but it did.

  Havik rubbed at his wrist tattoos.

  “But you are a Mahdfel, right?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a long way from home, Danger B.”

  “As are you, Terran, and my name is Garu Havik.” Not Danger B, or whatever ridiculous pet name she assigned him.

  “Pleased to meet you, Garu. I’m Thalia Fullerton.” She held out a hand in that peculiar Terran greeting, the tips of her fingers glossy with grease.

  His gaze flickered from her hand to her face, unmoved by her charmingly cavalier attitude toward hygiene or how carefully she watched his reaction.

  “Havik. Garu is a family name.” One he no longer wished to carry, but he kept that thought to himself.

  “Havoc?” She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s a name. Well, now that we’re not strangers, would you please eat what I ordered for you?” She patted the fountain’s ledge again.

  “I will not consume the food purchased with stolen funds.”

  “So stern. I’ve been naughty, Danger B. Are you going to spank me?” Her lower lip pouted.

  “Do not mock me.”

  The pouty expression vanished in an instant as she popped a morsel into her mouth. Her pink tongue flashed at the corners of her mouth and his tail twitched in response. Carefully concealed by wrapping his tail around his leg, the barb at the tip scraped against his calf.

  “I like you, family name Garu, personal name Havik. Are you married? Mated?”

  “No.”

  “Wanna be?”

  The noise of the station fell away in that moment, leaving only himself and the female. Nothing else existed beyond the burn of his tattoos and the quirk of her lips. He wanted to say yes, to prove he could be a good mate and regain his lost honor.

  “Absolutely not,” he said, perhaps louder than necessary.

  She lifted her shoulders in a gesture of surrender, familiar to him from his ex-mate. “Worth a shot, and I’ll have you know that this feast was purchased with my allowance, daddy.”

  “That is not my name,” he growled. This female had a way of irritating him like sand in his tail. “I witness you lifting credits.”

  “Won’t deny it, but the Mahdfel gave me some spending cash.” She held out her right hand. A small incision, still red and angry, marred her thumb. “It’s all above board. I wouldn’t want to corrupt a space cop with ill-gotten gains.”

  He reached for her hand without thinking, cupping it with his own. A jolt of awareness surged through him when skin met skin. Her hand appeared so small compared to his. His thumb brushed against her palm, intrigued by the contrast of his red skin against her colorless beige. Surprisingly, he found her skin rough. She gave a squeeze, demonstrating a strength he would not have expected from such a small appendage.

  At his wri
st, the black ink glowed with a subtle silver light.

  He glanced up from their joined hands, only to find the female—Thalia—studying him.

  “Oh, good. You already know each other,” an authoritative voice announced.

  Chapter 7

  Thalia

  Havik jerked his hand away, like embarrassment at being caught holding hands with her burned him. That hurt, more than Thalia expected. They were strangers. The only thing between them was his baffled response to her outrageous flirting.

  Shame. He had nice hands. Not so sure about his personality, though. At the moment, Thalia classified him as a recalcitrant killjoy. Still a total danger bang, though, just more of a law-abiding goody-two-shoes than a bad boy.

  Three Mahdfel men approached. Correction, one stalked forward with grim determination and the others followed. To her surprise, she recognized two of them. One was the security officer who gave her a new ID chip and the other had a distinctive missing horn. Thalia recognized him as the one who put the rescued women on a shuttle and basically told them to get the eff off his ship. Not in so many words, mind. It was more in his glowering and barking orders. All the other aliens hustled to follow orders, including Havik, who seemed to stand at attention. Back on the ship, they called him the warlord.

  The third looked like Havik because he had a brick-red complexion. Slimmer and shorter, he had a forelock of pure white hair.

  “You,” the warlord said, looming over her seated at the fountain’s ledge, “are meant to be on a flight to Earth.”

  She shoved another piece of the fried almost-fish in her mouth to buy herself time before answering. The scary alien warlord looked angry enough to march her to the next ship heading to Earth and strap her into a seat himself, just to prevent any shenanigans.

  I should fear him, she thought distantly, because all I’ve ever heard is how the Mahdfel are more muscles than brains.

  The man with one horn looked angry. Maybe that was how his face always looked. She knew she should be afraid. Trembling, even, but she attributed her lack of fear to a lingering side effect of the stasis.