by Susan Hayes
Eric burst out laughing. “How the hell did you end up best friends with Triple C’s little sister?”
“Who?”
Eric pointed across the bar to a handsome blond man drinking at the bar. “Lieutenant Crispen Caldwell. He’s the reason I’m here. Cris is a teammate and he scored us all invites to the reception.”
“Small galaxy. I went to college with Alyson. She called in a favor a while ago and had me look into some corporate shenanigans.”
“Holy fraxx, that was you!” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I know what she’s been involved in. The cyborgs, the corporations, the stolen DNA. If you’re part of that, then I’m betting you’re the one who hacked the IAF and found out about the Vault of the Fallen.”
“How do you know about that?” she hissed.
“My team was sent to investigate the thefts. That’s where I got these.” He pushed up his left sleeve to show her a freshly healed set of burn scars that surrounded one of his data ports.
“Whoa. That had to hurt. How did it happen?”
“My last mission, the DNA theft investigation, went a little sideways. Buy me a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
She waved a server over. “Hey, Echo. When you’ve got a moment can you bring me another Sunsprite’s Delight and grab my friend here a-- what are you drinking?”
“Something with the word sin in it. Red. Tasty. Packs a punch.”
“You’re drinking Cynfuls? Remind me to introduce you to the lady that’s named after later tonight. She’s one of the owners.”
“She single?”
Echo laughed and gave Eric an appreciative glance. “Don’t even think about it. Her husbands would kill you…if she didn’t end you first.”
“I don’t want to be ended. I’m too young to die.”
“Too cute, too.” Echo flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, winked at him and left to fetch their order, leaving them alone again.
“Alright, then. Our drinks are on the way. You tell me how you got those scars, and I’ll tell you what I can about how I went from hacking the IAF to going on a mission with them.”
Eric nodded. “You have yourself a deal, Phreak.”
“Since we’re in the land of the normals, why don’t you call me Phaedra?”
Meeting Eric turned out to be the best part of her night. The time they spent catching up and talking about their various adventures helped to remind her she had made a difference before, and she would do so again.
She wasn’t a norm. She operated outside the rules, living by her own personal code of honor and fighting the battles no one else could. Veth, she fought battles no one else even knew about. Without her help, no one would have known where the cyborg DNA had come from, or that the IAF had inadvertently been involved in a war effort they swore they had no part of. It had been too long since she’d talked with someone who understood what her life was like, and by the time they parted ways, she felt energized.
The party was winding down by the time she hugged Eric good night. He caught her hand in his and kissed it, bringing the data ports in their wrists together long enough to send her a brief databurst message.
Don’t be a stranger. I need at least one non-norm in my life.
Along with the note was a few lines of code that included a way to contact him whenever she was jacked into cyberspace.
She scanned the information before they’d even finished their hug and sent him a brief message back.
Same here. You’ll be hearing from me.
“I could walk you home,” he offered.
There’d been a time where she would have accepted his offer and everything that might come of it, but not tonight. Eric was handsome and brilliant, but she wasn’t feeling more than gratitude and friendship for him. She decided to point him in a different direction. “I am home. I’m staying here at the Nova Club for now.” She leaned in and whispered. “And if you leave with me, Echo will never give me another free drink. She’s waiting for me to go so she can tell you that while Cynder unavailable, she is very single.”
He grinned. “Yeah?”
“She’s very selective who she flirts with, so I’d say you’ve got a shot. Go on, tell her she’s pretty and then offer to show her your new battle scars.”
He stiffened. “You think she’ll still think I’m cute when she sees the data ports and the scars? Norms don’t really go for our kind, you know?”
Phaedra nodded. “She’s not a norm, though. Echo is a cyborg.”
Eric’s eyes widened. “She is? But she’s so…”
“If you say the word normal, I’m going to call you a hypocrite and kick your ass.”
“I was going to say gentle. Most of the cyborgs I’ve met have been big, glowering mountains of muscle, like your friend’s new husbands.”
“Fair enough. Compared to them, Echo is a delicate flower.” She nudged him in the direction she’d last seen Echo. “Go. Have fun. And keep in mind that if you piss her off, she can break you in half with one arm.”
Eric’s grin broadened. “Sounds like a good time.”
“Anyone told you that you have dangerous taste in women?”
“More than once.”
They parted ways, and Phaedra spent a few minutes saying her goodbyes to the staff and remaining guests. By the time she was done, she was only a few feet from the private door that led to the back rooms of the club, and to the elevator that would deliver her to her simple but incredibly secure room. She had slept better in the last few months than she had in years. The club was one of the most secure places she’d ever seen, and once she’d added a few of her own modifications, it was damned near impenetrable.
She had transferred her access code from the key card she’d been given to her internal systems, and a quick wave of her hand over the keypad opened the door. It was so much easier than trying to remember to bring her key card with her everywhere she went. Of course, she had added a few extra levels of access to her implant in the time she’d been staying here. Thanks to her visits to her friends at Corp-Sec, the Drift’s version of law enforcement, she had managed to give herself access to every door, communication system, and even some of the surveillance cams on the station. How could she keep herself and her friends safe if she didn’t know what was going on?
She stepped through the door, and a half-second later, a siren started to wail and whoop. For a moment, she thought she’d set off some kind of alarm, but a quick look around made it clear it wasn’t for her. Judging by the hurried departures of several IAF officers, something serious was happening elsewhere on the station.
She ducked down a side corridor and headed for the back door - the one club employees used to bring in fresh supplies of booze, food, and licensed pharma. If something interesting was about to happen, she wanted to be there. Even if she hadn’t been invited.
Chapter Two
Tyran sat in the cockpit and tried not to watch the chronometer tick away the seconds. How much longer until they got a response? They had sent a message of greeting to the massive space station they chose to approach first, but so far there had been no reaction.
“Do you think we screwed up the translation? What if we didn’t say we come in peace? What if we said we’re here for your vegetables or something?” Braxon was perched at the edge of his seat, absently twirling a dagger between the fingers of his left hand.
“I don’t think they’d believe we came all this way to steal their produce. Besides, we recorded nearly a hundred hours of transmission, more than enough for the computer to start working on a translation matrix. It verified that the message we sent was a non-threatening invitation to talk.”
Braxon pointed the dagger’s tip at the screen. “So, why aren’t they talking?”
“Perhaps we selected the wrong station? This entire area is full of ships, stations, and platforms.”
“But this one had the most military ships docked, which means it’s most likely a command center of some kind.” B
raxon started spinning the blade again. “Of course, that also means we have a good chance of getting blown to atoms if we did screw up that message.”
“We’re not getting blown to atoms. My guess is they’re observing us right now. Or maybe they’re in the middle of a sleep cycle, and everyone of rank is being roused from their beds.”
“Not the way I’d like to be woken up. Let’s hope they don’t hold it against us.”
The central monitor flashed several times, alerting them to an incoming message.
“Looks like they’re awake and ready to talk.” Tyran ran the message through their rudimentary translation program and started smiling as he read their response.
Braxon leaned in to read it too, and when he reached the end he sheathed his blade. “There are four species living together on these stations? Well, at least we know they’re not xenophobic.”
“We’ve got docking instructions, too.”
Braxon chuckled and pointed to the viewscreen. “I think I can guess where, too. Three ships have left one of the docking rings, and it looks like a few more are activating their engines. They’re clearing an area for us.”
Tyran began navigating the Santar into position, then glanced over at Braxon. “Now might be a good time to get dressed and try to make yourself look a little less…disreputable.”
“I’m your personal guard. I’m supposed to look threatening.”
“You’re also representing our entire race.” He looked pointedly at Braxon’s bare torso. “At least put on fresh garments.”
“That, I can do.” He got to his feet and held out his left arm, his hand closed into a fist. “May we make our ancestors proud today.”
Tyran reached out to touch the scars on his wrist to the matching one on Braxon’s. “And may they guide us to our heart’s desire.”
Braxon left to prepare for their meeting, which Tyran knew would also include arming himself in case things didn’t go as planned. Braxon always prepared for the worst possible outcome. It was in his nature to be suspicious, and that caution had served them both well over the years.
It took time and some careful piloting to get the Santar positioned at the docking ring, and a little longer to establish and ensure a secure seal between the ship and the station. It appeared that while their technology was not an exact match, it was close enough to be able to make it work. It was a promising start.
A few more communications back and forth had included information about atmosphere and other environmental data. The language barrier forced both sides to keep their inquiries and explanations simple, but it appeared that they would be able to breathe and move without a problem while on the station.
Now, they were standing at the door, waiting for the signal to exit.
“We ready?” he asked Braxon, who had reappeared moments before docking. He’d donned his best clothes, braided his hair back and tied it up in a clubbed queue, and looked every inch the part of an intergalactic emissary.
The illusion shattered the moment Braxon spoke. “Bet’s still on, right? Fifty koldar that we meet at least one female at this ceremony who finds out you’re a prince and immediately starts to flirt and simper.”
“It will be a pleasure to take your money while proving to you that not every female in the galaxy is interested in money and power.”
Braxon snorted. “Your optimism in the face of years of evidence to the contrary is impressive. You are going to lose, my friend.”
“I have a good feeling about this meeting. For the first time in generations, we have made first contact with not one, but several new species. Even if I do lose the bet, it will take more than a little simpering to ruin this moment.”
A sharp rap on the hull announced their moment had arrived.
Tyran raised his head, squared his shoulders, and activated the door. It glided open, revealing a stretch of open hallway that opened into a wider space that seemed quite crowded with curious onlookers packed in behind a more sedate-looking greeting party comprised mostly of humans. Matching uniforms of blue and silver marked several of them as military, and there were others not in uniform that were clearly there as representatives of their species. A slender female with striking blue coloring and silver eyes, a massive male with blue-black hair and eyes as dark as the void outside, and a tall, lanky being with yellow skin bedecked with thorny growths. Included in the messages had been generic pictures of each species but seeing them all in the flesh was different.
Behind him, Braxon exhaled sharply. “That’s a lot of beings.”
“And they’re all here to meet us. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Let’s just hope they’re not disappointed when they discover we’re not that different from them.”
“Ah, but we are different. Follow my lead.” Tyran stepped through the door and partially unfurled his wings as he raised his hand in greeting. There was a collective murmur that rippled through the crowd, echoed a few seconds later as Braxon appeared and unfurled his wings as well.
A well-built human male with silver in his hair stepped forward as they approached the greeting party. He wore a uniform, and there were enough ribbons and metallic decorations to indicate he was of high rank. When he spoke, he used the language they had heard most often in transmissions, though it was clearly spoken and used a slower cadence.
“On behalf of everyone present, I bid you greetings, and welcome to Astek Station. My name is Colonel Scott Archer, and I represent the Interstellar Armed Forces.”
Tyran nodded and spoke the simple phrases he had been practicing. “I am Prince Tyran Varosa, and this is Braxon Torr. We are of the Vardarian Empire, and we thank you for your greeting.”
The one called Archer’s expression softened and he offered a slight smile. “Well spoken,” he said in a low tone before continuing at a more normal volume. “What is the reason for your visit?”
This had already been mentioned in their communications, but Tyran knew this was for the benefit of the crowd watching them. It appeared these beings understood the art of ceremony and showmanship. “We are here as emissaries. Our mission as scouts is to seek out new planets to colonize and to ally ourselves with new races we may find. We seek trade and friendship. Nothing more.”
The mood in the room relaxed, and soft murmurs started to ebb and flow through the crowd. Archer took the lead, introducing Tyran and Braxon to each of the other members of the greeting party. The names, races, and affiliations were more than Tyran could keep in his head at the moment, but his nanotech enhancements were recording everything so he could play it back later.
He took a steadying breath and caught a teasing whisper of something that tore his attention from the diplomatic niceties unfolding in front of him. He glanced around, not even certain what he was looking for. The scent seemed somehow familiar, and yet how could there be anything familiar here? Was there another Vardarian present?
This place was strange in every aspect. The ceilings were too low, the material in the carpet that appeared to have been hastily laid out was nothing Tyran had seen before. The languages being spoken around him were strange, and the air carried a dozen odors he didn’t recognize. Faint traces of cooked food, the unfamiliar tang of alien beings, and…that. He caught the scent again.
“What is it?” Braxon asked in their own language.
“I don’t know. A scent. Something I should recognize but don’t.”
Colonel Archer caught the interaction. “Is there a problem? A concern?”
“No. Nothing of concern. I am sorry. There is so much to take in.” Tyran raised his hands to encompass the room and the crowd.
“Of course. Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere quieter?”
“That would be pleasing. I am still trying to learn your language. It is easier when there is less – everything.”
Archer smiled. “I imagine it would be. Come with me. We have a space set aside already. There we can discuss how best to proceed. Perhaps you would like a guide? A
liaison. Someone to assist you? I could arrange someone to be assigned to you.”
“That would be pleasing as well,” Tyran said.
Braxon waited for the exchange to finish, then whispered to Tyran. “I smell it too. I don’t understand. It can’t be.”
“Can’t be what? What is it?”
Braxon inhaled deeply, and his golden skin began to shimmer with agitation. “Our mahaya is present. How can this be?”
Tyran breathed in again, and this time the scent was stronger. Strong enough to confirm what Braxon was telling him. Somehow, against the odds, they had found their mate in a place where no Vardarian female should be.
“Find her.” A jolt of raw need put an edge to his words.
Braxon nodded sharply. “I will.”
Seeing that both his guests were agitated, Colonel Archer deemed it time to move them to a smaller venue. He couldn’t have any idea what was truly bothering them, and Tyran wasn’t sure he even had the words to explain. He let the human male lead them away through a corridor lined with guards.
Archer was still speaking, but Tyran was too distracted to hear anything he said. All his focus was on that elusive scent. Where was she, and how was she here at all?
A quick interface with a data node allowed Phaedra to acquire the information she needed. She skimmed the pertinent details from the datasphere, a simple act that didn’t even require her to make a hard connection. The station was about to have unexpected visitors. It was a first contact situation, which explained the alarm, but since no shots had been fired and a number of high-ranking corporate and IAF members were being sent to greet them, it looked like they were friendly.
A quick review of the station’s schematics and security cams was all it took for her to figure out exactly how to get to the site without running afoul of security.
If Mac and Dash had any idea how much information about the station and its occupants she’d acquired while she was helping them track down the assassin known as the Reaper, they’d probably toss her ass in a cell…or out the nearest airlock.
