by Anna Carven
Funny, that.
A strange sound escaped the aliens; a low, vibrating rumble that sounded like a cross between a purr and a laugh.
The Plutharans were fucking with them.
“Let’s move,” she urged, not wanting to be drawn into a confrontation.
Keep moving. That was their best form of defense. To Seph’s intense relief, the Plutharans didn’t follow.
They left the chortling red-skinned aliens behind as they reached the edge of the mid-level, which ended abruptly. Really, the entire middle level was just a giant platform between the upper and lower decks. At the midpoint, the floor gave way to a massive drop—it was probably around twenty floors high.
Beneath them, large ships idled on a dimly lit floor-space. The lower decks were huge, stretching to the very edge of Seph’s perception. She could just make out the shadowy outline of the airlocks beyond. Small transport craft whirred around like worker insects, their guide-lights flashing red and blue.
The sight was awesome and terrifying.
Based on what little information was available about this place, Seph had learned that the lower decks were where the big boys played. Pirates, raiders, mercenaries, official traders… many of them refused to leave the security of their ships.
It took a lot of clout and credits to earn a berth on the lower docks. The majority of visitors to Zarhab Groht weren’t allowed to enter the facility with their main vessels. Instead, the mere mortals—humans included—had to shuttle back-and-forth from their motherships, entering via the mid-level.
As they reached the elevator slipway, Markov gave her an odd look. It warmed Seph’s bitter heart to see the smugness melt away from his face.
Now he seemed wary. Good. That was a little more appropriate for a place like Zarhab Groht. Unlike her companions, Seph had a very healthy respect for aliens and what they were capable of.
There wasn’t much leeway here. They had to stick to the game-plan and get out of here as quickly as possible.
“So what now, Professor Winters?” Markov’s gun had appeared in his hand. Behind them, several guards at the rear were holding the line against a group of curious Ifkin.
“Stick to the plan. We get onto the elevator. We go down there. We find our sellers, do the deal, and pray we’re going to get out of here alive. Hopefully, the walk back should be a little easier.”
By then, she hoped they would have a small arsenal of Ephrenian plasma guns in their possession. The extra firepower would be a deterrent to anyone thinking of starting a fight.
Humans might be the perpetual underdogs in the Universe, but at least they had the ability to adapt.
As they shuffled onto the elevator—a wide metal platform covered in scratches and surrounded on all sides by a thin mesh cage—Seph steeled herself, trying not to look over the sides as a familiar prickle of fear crawled over her skin. Heights had never been her friend, which was ironic, considering she’d willingly agreed to blast off into space.
A flicker of movement at the corner of her vision caught Seph’s attention.
She turned and looked over her shoulder.
A lone mercenary had entered the cage with them. Seph couldn’t make out what he was, because his features were hidden behind a shiny black faceplate, and although she couldn’t see his eyes, she got the impression his attention was focused solely on her.
A strange sensation rippled down her spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t warm and fuzzy, either.
What the hell?
Now why would she be feeling like this? He was just another mercenary, one of hundreds she’d seen roaming around Zarhab Groht. He might even pose a threat to them.
Stop imagining things, idiot!
But she couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. There was something different about this merc. Although his battle-armor was nondescript—she couldn’t see any official insignia—it failed to hide the power lurking beneath.
He was a specimen, all right. Broad shoulders, rippling arms, imposing height… his was a body built for power and speed.
It was also a heavily armed body. The hilts of two long swords emerged above his shoulders, and a pair mysterious firearms were holstered against his torso.
What the hell was he? Chikaran? T’al Raasa? Velkrae? Seph racked her brain, trying to think of all the species that could be a match for his particular build.
Kordolian?
Can’t be…
The latter was the most unlikely option. What the hell would a Kordolian be doing all the way out here? There wasn’t anything on an Outer Sectors trading station that they could possibly need.
He definitely wasn’t human, that was for sure, but whatever he was, he was as cool as a cucumber.
With two-dozen bolt-guns pointed at his head, the merc nodded toward their group, completely unfazed. “Going down?” His Universal was surprisingly polished. The way he spoke, they could have been in a public elevator back on Earth, with bland, relaxing elevator music playing in the background.
It was absurd, but Seph nodded back at him. After all, he was looking at her. Suddenly, she was glad for her travel cloak, which hid her distinctive hair and complexion.
The merc hit a small panel at the edge of the platform. Without warning, the elevator dropped. Seph’s stomach leapt into her throat. Despite its battered appearance, the elevator platform’s descent was almost soundless, and fast.
They reached the lower level in a heartbeat.
“After you,” the merc said, his voice tinged with gentle irony.
Actually, his was a rich, resonant voice, the sort that might be more at home in a lecture hall rather than on a perilous and grimy trading station.
“Let’s go.” Markov’s sharp command ripped through Seph’s curious musings. The agent ignored the merc entirely, moving to the head of the pack.
As they filed out of the elevator, the mysterious merc hung back, waiting until they were all off the platform before making his move.
The guards were marching away, and Seph had no choice but to go with them. She was like a fish caught up in a fierce current.
Still, she managed to steal a parting glance at the merc. As he exited the elevator platform, Seph was struck by the way he moved. Despite his size, he was graceful and silent. There was something almost feline about him. More than ever, she wanted to see what lay beneath that featureless helm.
Impossibly, the merc tipped his head in acknowledgement, the polite gesture strangely out of place amidst all the danger and tension.
Seph wanted to nod back, but she was already moving, leaving the stranger behind as they ventured into unknown territory.
They were probably the first humans to ever set foot on the lower decks of Zarhab Groht.
How terrifying.
How thrilling.
How insane.
Despite their differences of opinion, there was an unspoken sense of acceptance amongst the humans; a terrible truth that nobody dared to voice aloud.
Everyone who traveled beyond the borders of Earth’s orbit signed an agreement-waiver with the Federation.
You acknowledge that you are undertaking extended space-travel at your own risk. The Earth Federation will not be responsible for any loss or liability incurred as a result of detainment, injury, death, or enslavement.
There was always the possibility that they might not return.
Seph knew it. They all knew it.
That was why they got paid the big bucks; the danger fee. Or as Seph liked to call it, insanity money.
Because everybody who chose to leave the comfortable, sun-blessed atmosphere of Earth had to be a little bit mad, right?
Seph had been called all sorts of names under the sun, including mad, and if she had a credit for every time someone had asked her why the hell she wanted to travel into deep space, she’d probably be a fucking trillionaire by now.
Chapter Three
Torin hung back, taking care to avoid detection. It was actually quite easy t
o tail the humans, because they made such a terrible commotion as they marched across the vast floor. Humans were always so damn noisy. It was part of their unique charm.
He kept to the shadows, moving silently between hulking freighters and lumbering loading bots.
All the while, he observed the group, noting the way the guards pointed their weapons at anything that moved. Their movements were steeped in hair-trigger tension, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
Not when they were outnumbered and outgunned.
Not when hidden eyes were watching them from all corners.
A lone mercenary like him was an ordinary sight, but these humans were fucking conspicuous.
He followed them beneath the belly of a large Ephrenian freighter, which was easily identifiable thanks to its brutal rectangular shape and the green circle symbol on the hull.
Careful, humans.
Torin told himself he shouldn’t stick his nose in their business—after all, he had his own mission to complete—but there was something about this whole arrangement that didn’t sit well with him.
Humans meeting Ephrenians on Zarhab Groht?
Rather strange. Potentially perilous for the light-dwellers. He didn’t really want any harm to come to them.
Torin rather liked humans—well, some of them. He’d even shared a moment with one in the elevator just now.
That female.
She’d looked at him with such curiosity, and for a brief moment, the edge of her hood had slipped back to reveal a face from his wildest dreams.
Rich brown eyes. Pale, dewy skin decorated with a glorious constellation of light brown flecks—freckles, humans called them. Pink lips that were full and generous, made for laughter and…
Oh, sweet Goddess.
Get a grip, idiot!
Now was not the time to be indulging in a waking fever-dream about a human female he’d merely glimpsed.
Yes, he was perpetually starved of sex. Yes, he was secretly envious of his brothers (and sister). The General, Kalan, Rykal, Kail, Xalikian, Zyara, Iskar, and even the cursed Silent One… they had all found their mates, and the effect had been mind-blowing.
Smug horndog bastards, the lot of them.
Fortunate bastards. They probably didn’t realize how much they—and the Universe—had changed since they’d found their mates.
What was the Earth word for it? Ah, serendipitous.
As for Torin, he was still waiting to be struck by the thunderbolt, and until it happened, he was consumed by the need to search.
For who or what exactly, he wasn’t so sure. His mind was constantly hungry. He was the restless one, the curious one, the one who went astray yet always managed to complete his mission.
Lately, that empty feeling had been getting worse. For a long time now, Torin had suspected he was slowly going mad, but that was to be expected. He was First Division. It came with the territory.
“I’ve found what we were looking for.” Enki chose that exact moment to reach Torin through the comm-link. Full of dark intensity, his soft voice cut through the noise like a sharp blade. “A middleman on the trading floor has Callidum.”
Sometimes, the most dangerous things in the Universe were the quietest. Torin was glad he was Enki’s battle-equal, because otherwise, he would be very wary of the bastard.
“What’s your status?” Whispering back, Torin kept one ear on the situation unfolding before him, and one ear on his conversation with Enki.
“Observing.”
“You need backup?”
“No.”
“Soon?”
“I will inform you if and when. I am waiting for the buyer to appear.”
“You’re such an easy man to work with, Enki.” Torin’s voice was laced with gentle irony. “That’s convenient for me, because I’m tied up with something right now. Holler if you need me, and remember, you don’t always have to kill everyone in sight. Try not to cause too much collateral damage, my brother.”
“Hm.” The comm went silent. Torin thought about going to see what Enki was up to, but decided against it. If Enki said he didn’t need backup, then he didn’t need backup.
That suited Torin just fine.
He took a deep breath as he moved into position behind a large freighter crate. The bulky thing blocked most of his view, but he didn’t really need to see everything when he could hear perfectly well.
A low hum reached his ears. It was the familiar sound of a ship’s boarding ramp, slowly extending until it hit the floor with a soft tap.
Footsteps. Ephrenian. The rhythm gave them away. Slender and long-limbed, the mysterious ones walked with a unique cadence that had stuck in Torin’s mind ever since he first caught a glimpse of the beings on the ocean planet of Nuar-Katha.
If they were typical Ephrenians, their features would be hidden beneath shimmering helmets which also provided breathing support. That was because Ephrenians didn’t breathe the same atmospheric air as everyone else in the Nine Galaxies. Apparently, the air on their home planet of Yaragon was life-sustaining to the Ephrenians, but toxic to everyone else.
Taptaptap.
Torin caught six different sets of footsteps. Six Ephrenians walking out to meet twenty-seven humans. The Ephrenians clearly weren’t intimidated by the humans, and why would they be? Their ship was probably emitting an energy-dampening field. Human bolt-weapons would be useless here. Even Torin’s plasma guns would be a little less powerful inside a dampening field.
The footsteps stopped. The two parties had assembled.
“We’ve come to make the exchange.” A human spoke first. The low voice that rang out him reminded him so strongly of Earth. Rich. Warm. Colorful. Just like the sun-drenched planet. It almost made him miss the cursed place.
Instinctively, he knew it was her, the observant one. Surprise, surprise. She spoke passable Ephrenian.
Humans never failed to astonish him.
And what was this about an exchange? What in Kaiin’s Hells were these humans up to?
“The terms have changed.” The Ephrenian spoke in sterile, accentless Universal, not acknowledging the human’s attempt to speak their language. “There is another bidder.”
“Supply was guaranteed,” another human—a stocky male—snapped, his voice crackling with impatience. “You can’t change the terms now. The weapons are ours.”
“On Zarhab Groht, nothing is guaranteed until credits are exchanged. You were given an opportunity to make an offer, and your initial bid was acceptable, but now another party has offered more.”
“This is a breach of our—”
“Sa anku vakosh.” We did not come here to play games. The female cut the angry man in two with her deliciously calm voice. “How can we get what we want?”
Her reaction was perfect. Perhaps she knew that Ephrenians reacted poorly to public displays of anger.
“We can conserve time and save unnecessary trouble by informing you of our current requirements.”
“Go ahead.”
“Fifty plasma guns are now available to you for the previously agreed total sum of credits.”
Plasma guns! So these humans were wanting to upgrade their hardware? General Tarak would definitely want to know about this, and he would not be pleased.
“Half the stock for the same price?” The angry man reacted with predictable outrage. “You can’t just double the price. That wasn’t the agreement. We ordered a hundred units.”
Careful.
Torin sensed the Ephrenians’ ploy. The tactic wasn’t unique to them. It was typical intergalactic trader shit, the old bait-and-catch.
Torin had been around. He’d traveled far and wide throughout the Nine Galaxies. He understood how it worked.
First, the seller offered the mark something they desperately desired. In this case, the humans wanted to acquire plasma weapons. Torin could see the logic in that. By galactic standards, their military hardware was terribly outdated.
Then, the mark was lured to a pl
ace where they would be at a significant disadvantage, a place that was difficult to get to and even more difficult to get out of. A place they wouldn’t want to visit twice. Case in point, Zarhab Groht.
Once the mark was on said turf and feeling decidedly insecure, the seller would withdraw the offer, leaving the buyer stranded.
Stranded, insecure, confused, and desperate, the buyer would try and salvage the deal. That state of mind could lead to some rash decision-making.
Buyer beware.
Torin wanted to go up to the humans and give them a sage piece of advice: walk the fuck away.
But he couldn’t afford to blow his cover.
The Ephrenians would go nuts. He could get these humans killed and compromise his mission. Torin might be near-invincible, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. There was bound to be collateral.
“A hundred units are still available,” the Ephrenian said, his words soft and deliberate, “but the price has gone up.”
The female spoke. “This is only a sample order. If the product suits our requirements, we’ll be wanting to acquire many more units… at the right price. The Earth Federation is looking for a supplier to fulfill a long-term arrangement.”
She’s perceptive, measured, calm. Torin liked her approach, but basic negotiation wouldn’t cut it in a place like Zarhab Groht. Tactics that were more likely to be effective here included: theft, blackmail, death-threats, and murder.
As a Kordolian, Torin knew all about those, especially the latter.
The Ephrenians remained silent. Bastards. They were really dragging this out, just because they could. Humans didn’t exactly inspire fear throughout the Nine Galaxies, and here they were at a significant disadvantage.
The angry male spoke, rising to their bait. “Name your price. We are open to negotiation. I want those units, all one hundred of them.”
“The new arrangement is this: fifty guns for the original amount of credits. A further fifty can be provided if you enter into an employment contract with us.”
“Employment?” A hint of eagerness entered the man’s voice.
The female was more cautious, whispering to her counterpart in English. With his acute hearing, Torin caught every word. “I’d suggest you slow down, Agent Markov. This is really quite unorthodox. Why would the Ephrenians want humans working for them? Something smells off to me. We should walk away, take some time to cool off, and reconsider.”
