Page 40 of Hunted By the Dragon Alien

Takkian exchanged a look with Bruil, then nodded. Bruil leaned into the transmitter. “This is freelance vessel Starwave-1409, requesting permission to dock. We’re here to meet contacts at the station. No hostile intent.”

The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably long. Takkian’s fingers tapped absently on his forearm as he kept his eyes pinned on the viewport, scanning for any activity that might signal trouble. Just as he considered suggesting a different approach, the static cleared and the metallic voice returned.

“Freelance vessel Starwave-1409, your request is acknowledged. Proceed to dock 17 on platform C. Follow the marked approach path. Compliance with station protocols is mandatory. Any deviation will result in immediate removal.”

“Friendly bunch,” Sevas muttered under her breath.

Bruil adjusted the ship’s trajectory to align with the designated path. “Standard neutral zone protocol. They don’t trust anyone—especially newcomers.”

The ship glided toward the outpost, weaving through a patchwork of freighters, smaller ships, and what looked like a gutted transport vessel turned into a massive storage unit. Each ship was tethered to the outpost by thick docking wires, looking more like debris caught in an ill-fated tractor beam than a functioning station.

Takkian’s gaze swept over the structure. Despite its haphazard design, there was order behind its chaotic exterior. Defense turrets were concealed along its perimeter. Plasma shields pulsed faintly, forming a nearly invisible barrier around the docking platforms. They wouldn’t hold against a full Axis assault, but they were enough to deter casual raiders.

“This place has seen some action,” he observed.

“Neutral zones like this always do. They’re built to survive, not to impress.” Bruil’s voice carried the weight of experience. “That patched-up transport over there? Probably raided three times before they bolted it to the station. Cheaper to reinforce the scrap than to keep rebuilding.”

As the ship descended closer to platform C, Takkian leaned closer to the viewport. He examined the figures moving along the docking arms below. They ranged from polished officers inenvirosuitsto weathered workers in crude patchwork gear. Some gestured animatedly, likely haggling over cargo, while others moved with the quiet efficiency of seasoned spacers.

“A lot is happening down there,” Sevas remarked, her tone soft but analytical. Her red eyes flicked from figure to figure. “Looks chaotic, but organized enough. Everyone knows their place.”

Takkian nodded, appreciating her keen observation. “We just need to find our people's ship, or if it left, where it was headed.”His gaze lingered on a pair of heavily armed guards stationed near the docking platform. “Without drawing suspicion.”

Bruil guided the ship closer with a deft touch on the controls. The docking markers lit up, pulsing gently as the automated guidance system took over. The clamps on their assigned dock locked onto the ship with a metallic clang. His feet hit the floor as gravity returned. For a moment, he felt impossibly heavy, but then his instincts and muscles remembered what to do and he rolled his shoulders.

“Docking complete,” Bruil announced, pushing back from the console. He turned to face Takkian and Sevas. “This is where things get tricky. Neutral zone or not, we can’t assume everyone here will leave us alone. Keep your guard up.”

Takkian glanced at the viewport again. The hangar bustled with activity, but something about the place put him on edge. Maybe it was the guards or the constant movement of cargo being loaded and unloaded. Or maybe he was just so used to the arena that anything different made him jumpy. His claws flexed briefly before retracting. “We’re here to find Sevas’ friends and any information about the Zaruxians. We stay focused, get what we need, and get out.”

Sevas secured her slingshot to her hip. “We’renotgoing unarmed.”

“Fek, no,” Bruil muttered, rising from his seat. He adjusted the straps on his battered leather armor and threw a pointed glance at Takkian. “You found some weapons from storage. Wear them prominently. Stick close. We can’t afford to be separated.”

Sevas stuck with her slingshot, and Bruil slid two blades into his armor. Takkian took one blade and tucked the blaster in his belt as they moved toward the hatch. His wings shifted as though ready to unfurl at the first sign of trouble. Sevas stepped inbehind him and Bruil followed. His sharp yellow eyes moved to the console one last time before stepping out of the ship.

They emerged into the bustling hangar. The first thing Takkian noticed was the sheer size of the operation. Ships of all shapes and sizes were docked along various platforms, their hulls a patchwork of scorch marks and hastily applied repairs. Workers, guards, and traders bustled about. It might have looked disorganized at first, but it was clear there was an underlying order here. The faint tang of fuel and metal filled the air, mingled with the hum and screech of machinery and the murmur of voices. It was, initially, an overload to his senses. He’d become so attuned to the sounds and smells of the arena that these foreign ones made him unsure what to focus on. Sevas and Bruil followed closely behind. Bruil looked grim, but Sevas was working hard to contain her own awe. She had gone from a farming community to the arena, tothis. Her head had to be reeling.

“Stay close,” he muttered, scanning for anything out of place. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Something about the atmosphere felt…off. Too many eyes lingered on them for just a tick too long, and the guards stationed along the perimeter watched with an intensity that set his teeth on edge.

Bruil moved to his right. His scarred face set in a look of practiced boredom. “Feels like we just walked into a den of feralkirthbeasts,” he said under his breath. “Everyone’s watching, and I don’t think it’s because they like our faces.”

“We’re new. Outsiders,” Sevas said, though her hand hovered near the slingshot at her hip. “It’s normal for people to size us up.”

Bruil snorted. “Yeah, but some of them aren’t just looking. They’re calculating.” He nodded subtly toward a group of dockhands near a cargo transport. Their conversation stilled as the trio passed, their eyes sharp and assessing.

As they crossed the hangar and entered the main central space, Takkian felt the unease settle deeper in his chest. Here in the enormous atrium, the ceiling was high and arched, and merchants clotted together with customers and other beings, working deals or haggling prices. Takkian’s instincts screamed at him to turn back, to shield Sevas and Bruil from whatever lurked in the shadows of this chaotic hub. But retreat wasn’t an option—not with the chance to find his people and Sevas’ friends so close.

“Where do we start?” Sevas asked quietly. Her eyes scanned the bustling activity around them. She kept her posture relaxed, but Takkian saw the way her fingers stayed close to her slingshot, ready to draw if necessary.

Bruil jerked his chin toward a cluster of kiosks nestled against the far wall. Their stalls displayed a mix of worn signage and holographic projections advertising repairs, fuel resupplies, and trade goods. “We try the information brokers first. Neutral zones thrive on gossip as much as trade. Someone here knows something.”

They moved in unison, wading through the sea of beings crisscrossing the atrium. Takkian didn’t miss the way some of them looked away when his gaze swept over them. A group near the edge of the atrium caught his attention: a trio of stocky aliens with leathery skin and ridged spines, all sharpening blades that glinted ominously in the flickering light. One of them kept his slitted gaze pinned on Sevas.

Takkian’s throat went hot with dragon fire. “We’re drawing too much attention,” he muttered, scanning the route ahead. “Bruil, lead the way. I’ll monitor our backs.”

Bruil grumbled something under his breath but took point. His hulking frame cut a straightforward path through the crowd. The information kiosks came into view, each manned by traders, brokers, and a smattering of what Takkian could only describeas opportunists. The air here was heavier, tinged with the sharp tang of overheated circuitry and the faint hiss of whispered deals.

The bustling noise faded the moment he saw them—Axis agents. A squad of six, dressed in dark armor that glinted ominously under the harsh hangar lighting. They moved with calculated purpose. Their movements were military: precise, deliberate, and unsettling.

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