by Layla Nash
He made a face as he wandered through the market, head and shoulders towering above most of the merchants and patrons. Trazzak took his responsibility for the ship and its crew very seriously. The resupply and refit could cause any number of problems if someone wasn’t paying attention, and with their theft of an Alliance battleship, bounty hunters were stalking the Galaxos whenever she left rebel-held territory. Sabotage was a definite threat, growing with every passing minute they remained at the waystation.
Trazzak didn’t want to stay long on the port, but he enjoyed the scenery of the various races and cultures represented in the market and food stalls. He missed the variety of Xarav and the neutral planets they used to frequent. Not that the Earther women who joined the crew weren’t interesting — they were just more of a distraction.
A constant distraction, some of them.
He shook off the feeling and picked up some pickled cabbage and spiced meat from the stand with Xaravian delicacies, pausing to joke and haggle with the owner before continuing to walk, eating as he went. He missed Xarav more than he cared to admit, but after more than a week or two at home, Trazzak yearned for the stars once more.
He’d finished the snack by the time he reached the bookstore, wiping his hands on his robes to get rid of the sticky red paste and cabbage juice, and nodded to the proprietor as the old Tyluk woman glanced up from her dusty desk. Trazzak searched through the stack of Xarav and universal language books for anything interesting — or at least something he could sell to Vrix for a substantial markup — and lost himself in all the possibilities that the books presented.
He almost didn’t notice as a familiar figure bulled through the door and tripped over a stack of ship repair manuals, earning a dark look from the Tyluk, and Trazzak held his breath. Jessalyn. Something wasn’t right — the normally unflappable cultural attaché breathed raggedly, as if struggling to maintain her composure, and she fumbled several books as she tried to pick them up. She hadn’t seen him, so Trazzak just waited.
She looked unrecognizable — well, almost unrecognizable, since she couldn’t change her scent — in a Furtoli hood, and damn sexy to boot with some of her blonde hair tangling around her shoulders under the intricate folds of fabric. He’d never seen her without a severe braid, pinned up so tight it looked like she stretched her whole face flatter. Trazzak picked up a few more books for Vrix, not looking at the titles, as he studied Jessalyn’s search for something in the overflowing mess of Earther books.
She’d always struck him as different from the others. She was friends with them, sure, or at least had been before Griggs and Vrix went to Caihiri to rescue a friend of Griggs. Something changed between some of them around that time, but Trazzak didn’t know enough about Earther emotions — well, female emotions of any species — to judge what happened or offer to make peace. So he watched, like he always did, and listened. But even before that particular little drama, Jessalyn struck him as a loner pretending to be part of the crowd as she moved with them and hid among them. Like a stranger passing through.
She had a lot of secrets, that was for damn sure. He could see it in the languages she pretended not to speak, and the mystery of what a cultural attaché actually did, and the little bits of knowledge she had about everything on the ship. Most Fleet officers specialized so deeply they couldn’t easily move to another field — the crazy Earther engineer, Rowan, readily admitted she didn’t know anything about how the security office ran, or how sick bay operated, or even how to navigate the ship. But Jessalyn... She could do a bit of everything.
Trazzak didn’t like mysteries. They prevented the good order and discipline necessary to survive in space, in rebel areas, while being pursued by the Alliance.
He checked his watch and grumbled about the time, wondering if it would be safe to return to the Galaxos without running the risk of seeing whatever games Vrix played with his mate. Trazzak turned to the counter so he could pay for his purchases when another tower of books collapsed. He froze, fearing he might have been the culprit, but when he looked, Jessalyn scrambled to rebuild the tower. He left his books on the counter with the irritated proprietor, and went to help.
Trazzak crouched next to her without a word, helping with the books, and ignored the wary look on her face. Not pleased to see him, that was as certain as the north winds bringing sand. She reached to take a book out of his hands before he could pile it up with the others, and her low, throaty voice sent shivers through his scales. “Hold on, I think I’m getting this one.”
He frowned at the cover. “You speak V’rryk’k?”
“No,” she said, an automatic denial that felt like a practiced lie. As if she’d rehearsed denying it. Jessalyn flushed and added the book to several others she carried, and offered a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks for your help.”
She also had a way of saying normal phrases as if they were dismissals, and everyone should turn on their heel and retreat before they bothered her another second. Trazzak was made of sterner stuff, and held his ground. “Some interesting titles you’ve picked up.”
“Varied interests,” she said. Jessalyn brushed past him to set the stack on the counter, then went back to the shelves for more. “And I’m working on some side projects, so I need these for my research.”
“Research you can’t do on the ship? We have every database –”
“It’s not that kind of research.” Her hair fell forward and shielded her expression, until Trazzak had to guess what she might have meant. Which would have been a hell of a lot easier if Earthers just changed their color like the Xaravians did. Jessalyn crouched to dig into some of the lower shelves, pulling things out with both hands. “Aren’t you needed on the ship? They left Frrar in charge, I think, and you know how engineers are.”
Trazzak’s attention immediately turned to the ship, trying not to imagine how the engineer might modify the ship to “improve” it. It had happened only once before, and they barely survived the results. He blinked as he glanced over and saw no sign of Jessalyn, though the rustling of pages and the occasional thump of falling books betrayed the fact that she still searched through the shelves. He shook his head but paid for his selections. If she didn’t want help, that was fine with him.
But his sisters would have beat him like a sandsnake if he didn’t do the right thing. Trazzak dropped enough tokens on the counter to cover his purchases, all of hers, and to regain the favor of the Tyluk for the next time he needed reading material. The thought of Frrar unsupervised in the docking bay — and with an easy ordering network to get more parts and systems — got his feet moving faster to get back to the ship. No telling what kind of damage the engineer did.
But he had just enough time to pick up some red spice and fermented meat for a taste of home to savor later. It was Vaant’s ship, after all.
Jess
Jess started scowling the moment the Tyluk held up a handful of tokens and said the Xaravian paid for her purchase. She hated being indebted to anyone, and she really didn’t like men with ulterior motives. She couldn’t stop pondering why he bought her books, worrying at it like a sore tooth, as she loaded the books into bags and assessed whether she’d need two trips or to rent a small cart.
The merchant wouldn’t say anything about the Xaravian, whether he’d had a message or said anything about Jess, even after Jess tried out some rusty Tyluk phrases she remembered from training. The sour old puss just frowned at her and tossed the tokens into a box, going back to some dusty tome written in an incomprehensible script. Jess thanked her for her time and shouldered the bags, rolling her eyes as she slunk out and checked the passageway before she dared leave the safety of the small store.
She didn’t see anything lurking nearby, and even made it all the way back to the market before the back of her neck prickled and the atmosphere around her changed. Jess slowed her pace and paused to look at some jewelry, using the opportunity to scan the crowd behind her. A few suspicious characters lurked around the market stalls, bu
t demeanor was never enough to really give away the dangerous ones. Jess didn’t mind the overtly creepy stalkers — they were far easier to see coming, and usually easier to dissuade.
Jess kept moving, making more turns and more stops, until she was certain only three of them seemed to be following her: one had the diminutive stature and flat face of the Slasu, another dressed like a Tyboli merchant, and the last... Damn. Her heart started to pound. The last looked like a Xerxh mercenary, tall and broad and competent. He would definitely be the most dangerous — the Xerxh were professionals through and through, and once they accepted a mission or a bounty, there was no way to stop them.
At least they weren’t friends of Nathan, otherwise she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Jess’s shoulders and arms ached from carrying the books, and she paused near another perfumery so she could set them down and get her thoughts in order. She had to get back to the ship, and fast. The bounty hunters would be able to isolate her and probably disarm her, maybe even get her off the spaceport before any of her crewmates noticed. Jess held her breath and pretended to study a bottle as something in the port jolted and her stomach unbalanced along with it. Damn it. After the argument with Griggs and Isla, Jess didn’t know how long they’d wait to start looking for her.
There wasn’t time to feel sorry for herself. Jessalyn picked up her books again after buying three of the smallest and cheapest vials of perfume, and kept those inside her top as she meandered toward the docks. She felt the Xerxh closing in on her, could practically hear the clink of chains and the static buzz of a taser, and her palms started to sweat.
But it didn’t take long before a familiar calm settled over her and everything slowed down in silent, distinct frames everywhere she looked. It felt like a training film. Panic got people killed in her line of work. Maintaining calm and composure and not allowing fear to override judgment was a familiar theme in training. She couldn’t see all the possibilities if she panicked.
Eventually her thoughts clarified as well, presenting her with options: flee; pretend to be someone else; attach herself to a group of tourists and follow them to their ship; stop and fight; notify the port authorities; notify the Galaxos and ask for backup; call Nathan and hope he showed up... All of it swirled through her mind and got sorted into possible, not possible, and totally impossible.
Part of her didn’t want to call the Galaxos, not because she didn’t like asking for help, but because she didn’t want to know how long it would take for Isla and Griggs to come to her aid — if either of them even did.
Which left only a few options. Out of all of them, Jess much preferred fighting. She just needed to set the odds in her favor.
The bounty hunters wouldn’t attack her in the crowd, since that meant witnesses to them breaking the neutrality agreement of the port. They must have been desperate, to risk grabbing her off the waystation. The port’s security team didn’t take kindly to anyone breaking the neutrality treaty — most of their business relied on being open to all races and degrees of legality. Which worked in Jess’s favor, for the most part.
For a brief moment, she kind of wished she hadn’t been a bitch to Trazzak and he’d stayed to help her carry the books. She pushed it away, since wishes wouldn’t help her get back to the Galaxos before the bounty hunters grabbed her.
Jess followed some unfamiliar Xaravians, since the bounty hunters wouldn’t dare piss off the barbarians, and edged closer to a side passageway she remembered as a shortcut back to the dock. It had a few blind corners and alcoves useful for hiding in. Her back ached from the books, but she took a deep breath, hiked up her big girl panties, and bolted into the passageway.
She bypassed the first two alcoves, moving as fast as possible to get to the third before the bounty hunters fought their way through the crowd. Jess stashed the books and used the Furtoli hood to bind her hair back and conceal the lower half of her face. Just in case they tried to use knockout chemicals, it would buy her some time. She kept the perfume bottles easily accessible, and slid a garrote and needle-knife out of their hiding places in her boots. Jess made sure everything else was secure in its sheath but still accessible, and kissed the medallion around her neck for good luck as the three bounty hunters raced into the passage, searching for her.
One grumbled and muttered. “Find the bitch. She’s our payday for the next year. Dead or alive, they said.”
So that was that. Definitely bounty hunters, definitely looking for her, and definitely ready to kill her. Whatever benefit of the doubt she might have given them evaporated. Nice girls didn’t survive in her profession, and Jess had been at it a long time. She gritted her teeth and crouched into a fighting stance as she readied her weapons and listened for each tentative footfall as the aliens cleared the first two alcoves and side halls. Any second now. Ten more steps. Five. Four. Three...
The Slasu went first, checking the alcove, and as his petite little asshole self poked his nose into her hiding place, Jess whipped the garrote around his neck and strangled him, dragging the body into the alcove. She dropped him far away from her books, though, not wanting to get blood or Slasu ickiness on her stuff.
The Tyboli barked a question and a warning at the same time, and charged. Jess used some wall-walking skills to launch out of the alcove and plant both boots into the taller alien’s chest, throwing him back into the Xerxh until they both stumbled back. Jessalyn didn’t wait for them to recover, dispatching the Tyboli with the needle knife.
Which only left the Xerxh, who’d recovered from the initial surprise and regained his feet. Jess wondered if maybe he sent the other two in first to get an idea of how she fought. She wouldn’t put it past the Xerxh to sacrifice others just to improve his chances of getting a paycheck.
Jess broke open one of the perfume bottles and flung it in his face, following it with the other two when the bounty hunter dodged the first. He coughed and hesitated, and Jess took the opening. A telescoping baton slid out of her sleeve and whipped against the Xerxh’s head, and he dropped like a rock.
She retrieved the garrote and used it to bind his hands, relieving the bounty hunter of his weapons, money, and tablet where he received orders. Her heart jumped to her throat when the very first screen showed her face — the official Fleet photo she took a few years before, when optimism and true belief in the value of the Alliance still shone in her eyes. She turned it off and tucked the tablet into one of the bags of books, then jumped back as the Xerxh stirred and lunged toward her.
He somehow had a small, sharp blade in his hands, and it nicked the back of her hand. Jess growled in irritation and stomped on his wrist, the bones cracking with a satisfying sound, and the Xerxh snarled and tried to tackle her from his prone position. They grappled until Jess slammed his head into the ground enough times that he passed out again, then she shoved to her feet and put pressure on the small cut. Shit.
She’d have a hard time explaining it to Maisy in the sick bay, so good thing Jess kept a stocked first aid kit in her quarters. She went to one of the communicators on the wall near the alcove, and hit a few buttons to bypass the operator and instead patch her through to the security officers. “I’m in Sector 5, Ring 3. Three bounty hunters just attacked me. Please retrieve them; they have violated the neutrality of your port.”
Jess ignored the crackling voices and requests for more information, and instead picked up her books and the trinkets she liberated off the bounty hunters, and strode away. She reeked of cheap perfume — three different kinds — and needed a shower and a nap. At least the bounty hunters distracted her from Nathan and his impossible deal.
She shook her head and ignored the pain in her hand and arm as she approached the docks and slowed as the crowds took up more room in the halls and made it impossible to move as fast as she wanted. Jess ignored the noise and sirens that began to echo in that part of the port, and kept her head down as she shouldered past a group of aliens trying to sell trinkets to the departing crews.
She
had a lot of thinking to do, and studying the technology the Ministry wanted was the first step. If she could figure out a way to give Nathan what he wanted, then at least Jess wouldn’t have to fear bounty hunters behind her at every turn. Looking around every corner for more Xerxh mercenaries would cut into her quality of life for however many months she had left. They’d never stop hunting her, and would follow her to the end of the universe no matter how she tried to hide or what kinds of disguises she used.
Jess nodded to Frrar as she passed through the dock and back onto the Galaxos. Time to get to work.
Trazzak
By the time the Galaxos fought past the Fleet ships and pirates who showed up around the waystation, Trazzak needed a stiff drink. The only thing that kept them from being completely destroyed by the Alliance and all of its minions was the Heisenberg, lying in wait just beyond their radar to jump into the fight when trouble arose. Both ships got free and fled to the safety of rebel-held space, but it would take weeks to repair the damage to both. Which put Vaant in a foul mood.
So Trazzak left the bridge as soon as the rebel fighter escorts arrived to help the Galaxos limp back to a repair facility, and retrieved a fresh bottle of liquor and his snacks from the spaceport before heading to the officers’ mess. A few drinks, some red paste and fermented meat, and a good book sounded like the perfect way to relax after a long and irritating day. He put off dealing with Frrar’s great ideas until after he’d gotten more sleep, so he wouldn’t completely strangle the enthusiastic engineer for all the new technology that cluttered the docking bay.
He “counseled” Frrar on his efforts to improve the Galaxos loading apparatus but put the rest of the conversation off until he had more rest. The questionable technology made Trazzak nervous, especially since Frrar pointed out it was “cheaper than sand in the desert.” Nothing that cheap could be quality or useful at anything, and Trazzak wondered if maybe the Alliance tried to get bombs or listening devices or some other kind of monitoring equipment on the Galaxos under the guise of improving normal functions.
