Page 171 of Star Claimed Omega
Santi came alongside him, arms folded, his gaze narrowing on the sight of theEl Lobo’sramp extending.
‘You’ve assembled a solid squad,’ Xander muttered.
‘Some of our best,’ Santi rasped. ‘Wish the rest of the strong guard was coming though, like the old days.’
Xander’s gaze cut toward him then, his eyes unreadable. ‘You’ll have Kaal and Miral. Besides, it’s an open-ended gig, and we all can’t be away from the mother ship indefinitely. Most of all, you need thiscabrón.’
Santi grunted. ‘ThefokkI do.’
‘You’ve been a dead man walking for weeks,’ Xander went on. ‘Cybele will wake you up. One way or another.’
Silence fell between them, filled by the hum of rumbling engines, far-off crew chatter, and hover porters buzzing to and from deliveries.
In time, Xander spoke. ‘I hope you find peace out there.’
‘I’ll freakin’ pummel it into reality,’ Santi muttered.
The men shared a hug, then the XO turned on his heel and strode into theEl Lobowithout looking back.
Behind him, Xander jerked his chin in a slow lift to Miral, who stood just inside the shadows of the cruiser’s rear hold.
She gave the slightest nod in return.
29
Chapter 29
SOLEIL
The corridors of Cybele Station were sweltering with evening traffic and crowds when Soleil stepped out ofKahawa Metro, done with her shift.
The artificial lighting above Deck 17’s transit ring flickered, casting a sickly pulse across the wet floors from last night’s pressure wash.
Somewhere down the line, a hawker shouted deals for fresh kelp cakes and steamed alga noodles.
The haze of oil smoke drifted over the clustered stalls.
Soleil walked with her earbuds in, bag slung over her shoulder, lost in the rhythmic brass of an old-world big-band riff.
It was the only thing these days that brought her some semblance of joy.
The sounds of rich saxophones and swing beats tapped against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
She was halfway to the lifts when she caught the sound of a frantic, panicked cry, then another.
She froze and pulled one earbud out.
‘Please don’t take it! That’s everything I have!’
The voice belonged to an older woman, a vendor who sold fried plantains from a foldable cart near one of Deck 17’s side corridors.
Soleil darted around the corner and stopped cold.
Two Accord Legion sentinels, suited in gleaming riot shells with their insignia blinking blue, were holding the woman captive.
One rifled through her satchel. The other clutched an energy baton in his gauntlet.
‘You need a trade permit, you old parasite,’ one growled.
