Page 97 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
"Always," he promised.
Spot chirped at her feet, sensors flashing with approval. She glanced down at her faithful companion, then back at Davis and the Reapers, who had become her family.
"Hell yeah, Reapers always win," she said.
"Abso-fucking-lutely," Ryke called from behind Davis.
With her head held high and Spot at her heels, she stepped into the spotlight, ready to show the gaming world exactly who she was.
* * *
Rann leanedagainst the combat shuttle's airlock, watching the others disappear into the station's bustling crowd. He tracked them until they vanished around a corner, their gaudy costumes swallowed by the sea of humanity. Pushing off from the airlock frame, he stepped back inside. The others had offered for him to go with them, but after what had happened, they deserved space from him. From the danger his presence had attracted.
His jaw tightened as he moved through the Lady's Dream's compact combat shuttle. Each footstep echoed in the space. No one had said it outright, but it was in the sidelong glances and the abrupt silences when he entered a room. And then Ryke had suggested he stay with the shuttle, his longtime friend's voice too even, too controlled… Yeah, volunteering had been easier than being asked.
Dropping into the pilot's seat, he ran a systems check out of habit. Maintenance crews serviced vessels outside the viewport while cargo handlers loaded and unloaded supplies. They were all human ships with human crews, but the scene was the same as in any other spaceport.
His comm unit buzzed. Pulling it from his pocket, he noted the encryption signature and activated the secure channel. "I'm here."
"About damn time." The gruff voice brought him back decades. "Thought you were dead."
"Not for lack of trying on their part." He kept his voice low. "What did you find?"
"Nothing good. The directive comes from high up. Someone's calling in every marker, pulling every string by the looks of it."
The skin at the back of his neck tightened. "Why now? After all these years?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" A pause. "They're desperate enough to risk exposure. Operating way outside their usual channels."
"I need a name."
"Working on it. But watch yourself. This smells like a purge."
The connection terminated before he could respond. He pocketed his comm, fingers momentarily fumbling the device. A purge meant only one thing… someone was eliminating loose ends. People who knew things they shouldn't.
People like him.
He stood, yanking at his collar. After three quick strides across the shuttle, he stopped, muscles coiled tight. The walls felt too close, and his hands balled into fists. He needed to move, to think.
After setting the security protocols, he slipped out of the shuttle. Because he was in human space, he walked with a slight hunch to minimize his height and tilted his head to keep his face in shadow.
He headed through the docking bay, muscles tense under the weight of decisions made years ago that still chased him. Two security officers made their rounds, barely glancing at him as he passed them.
Despite the convention drawing most visitors toward the main concourse, the commercial bay adjacent to the docking area still bustled with activity. Shops and service providers lined the walls, selling everything travelers might need before departing.
He paused as a human male in gray overalls caught his attention. The human stood beside an information console, speaking into a comm unit. Something about his posture and how he constantly scanned his surroundings caught Rann's attention.
"Yeah, I'm heading to pick them up now." The man's voice was almost lost in the din of the concourse. Rann moved closer, pretending to check something on another information terminal nearby. "Flight plan says they're registered as colonists. Six women."
"First job for you, ain't it, Kenton?" The voice on the comm was hard. "Don't fuck it up. The buyers are paying top credit for untouched merchandise."
Rann's fingers stilled on the terminal keypad. Human trafficking. His jaw clenched. Some things were the same across the galaxy.
Kenton's shoulders tensed. "The charter pilot's dead. Dumped him in maintenance shaft C-7. Had to cut his throat when he started asking questions."
"As long as there's no trail."
Kenton shook his head. "I'm gonna need to get out of this place before he starts to stink. And these bitches think they're heading to Tarsis Colony to start new lives… what if they ask questions when we change course?"
