by Renee Rose
While she starts sorting through the things, I tap Benn’s shoulder. More of a punch than a touch. “It’s time to focus.” He’s staring at her with a curious expression on his face, like he’s trying to figure something out, and we need to get into warrior mode for our planet foray. “Raxx couldn’t get into their prison system remotely—it’s locked down hard. We’re going to need to play mind games with them.”
He laughs, immediately focused. “My favorite. Veck. You be the asshole, I’ll be the calm one.”
“Oh, I’m the asshole?” I narrow my eyes.
“Call it like I see it.” He grins. “Who else punches their partner anyway just to talk?”
“You vecking excrement,” I curse, scowling.
“Just like that.” He nods. “Excellent job, my student.” He smirks. “Follow my lead and we’ll be fine.”
A chime sounds from the control panel, signaling our arrival into Hectan-3 airspace, and both of us turn our heads. I hold my breath, because if our craft isn’t accepted by their air control system and cleared to land, we’re vecked before we even start the op.
But a second later the second chime comes, the one that signals the go-ahead, and I relax.
As the craft begins the usual series of auto-adjustments for descent, I look at Danica. She’s holding boots and clothes in her arms, and she looks intent as she watches the panel from across the room.
Too intent.
I nod at Benn, and then at her.
He glances over. “Yeah,” he says softly. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I hate to say it but…” I retrieve a pair of cuffs from the side compartment. “She’s not going to like this, but I think it’s necessary.” I hand them to him.
He puts up both hands and raises his brows. “We already decided you’re the asshole, for good reason. So you do it. Get into character, brother.” He laughs. “You can make it up to her later with your tongue, I’m sure.”
“Vecking beast,” I mutter at him. But it’s a chance to touch her, and I’ll take it.
I stride over to Danica. “Give me your hand, slave,” I order.
She doesn’t resist, not exactly, but she doesn’t give her arm easily, so I reach back and slap her ass, hard. My cock surges to life, but there’s no time for that now.
“Ouch,” she complains, reaching back to rub, but I grab that hand too. It’s the work of a few seconds to cuff her delicate wrist in the glowing magnetbands, the ones controlled by my voice. I anchor the left one to the lock in the craft wall.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and I mean it. I touch her face, but she moves her chin away, and I see her chest heave. “Are you crying?” My voice rises as I try to look at her eyes. It’s something humans do, I know, when they feel strong emotions. The thing is that I also feel a whole host of emotions, watching her. The need to protect her. Keep her safe.
No, she’s not crying. She’s angry.
“You don’t need to restrain me.” Her voice is high and tight, brave, but her whole body trembles.
“We need you to stay on this craft, Danica. So you can be safe. I don’t want…” The idea of anyone else getting their hands on her makes me shudder.
“I plan to. What would I want on an inhospitable planet? I just want to get somewhere safe.” There's conviction in her tone. But the way she was looking at us before, so alert, her whole body on notice…
I clear my throat. “I know how to read signs of flight. You’ll stay cuffed here until we return.”
“What if you don’t?”
I harden my voice, because there’s no time right now for intimacy. “You better hope we do, because anything out there is going to be a vecking lot worse than what we have planned for you.”
I grab her chin—not roughly, but firmly, and look into her eyes. “I mean that, Danica. There’s nothing for you on this planet.”
She nods. “Yes, Master.” She still looks angry, but her eyes are moist.
“We will come back. I promise you.”
She looks at the floor, where the clothing she selected lies in a heap. “I’m still cold.”
Her arm is warm as I touch it. But I remember how she shivered before. I grab a blanket from the container and drape it over her shoulders, my fingers wanting more. “Here. We’ll give you time to dress when we return.”
Her mouth tightens, and she shrugs. “All right.” Her eyes are downcast now, and she slumps against the wall. “Can I at least sit down, or will I have to stand the whole time?”
I adjust the anchor point where her cuff is attached. “It slides. You can stand or sit. You just can’t move away from this location.” I hesitate. “Are you in pain?”
She makes a sound like a laugh, but there’s no humor in her eyes. “That’s not a yes or no, Master.” She pulls at the cuff.
My voice tightens. “Does your wrist hurt?” I touch her skin just above the cuff. “Is this too tight?”
“My wrist doesn’t hurt.” Her voice is flat. “I’ll be fine.”
“So will we.”
She looks up at me, and I’m surprised at the expression on her face. “Come back safely.” Her voice is almost fierce.
“We plan to. Always do.”
Chapter 5
Benn
We’re already in character as we exit our craft. We dressed in the typical garb of bounty hunters—rugged clothing in neutral colors, lots of pockets for gear, some body armor. Platinum armored boots. Cuffs at our waist. Horns and skin disguised with headgear, so nobody knows we’re Zandian. Walking tall, cocky, because we vecking own the world. As if we’ve been in a thousand fist fights, and we’re ready for a thousand more. Like we welcome brawls, leaning forward into violence and danger.
“A lot of ships here.” Gorde glances around us as we step into our ground craft, which we undocked from our main vessel.
“It’s a popular station. On the flight path for a planet cluster. Ugly.”
He scoffs. “These places are always bleak.”
The landing area extends as far as the eye can see to the left and right, and there are over a hundred craft docked here: Transport ships, bulky, bloated with precious cargo, flash to the left, most of them with armed guards on duty on and off craft. Diplomatic vessels with the insignia of the galactic sign for neutrality—which is not always honored—are in a section to the right. The sleazy transport craft, the ones that typically dupe their passengers and steal their money, unless you’re tough as veck and have the physique to kill without a weapon.
And then the rest of us, crafts of various sizes and shapes, each with our own plans and destinations, litter the ground in even rows. The refueling pods rumble back and forth, lights flashing.
“Stinks.” I wrinkle my nose and look at the rusty sky, thick with particulates and smog.
“It’s the mining. They don’t care if they wreck this planet.”
“Use it up and discard it.” I frown. Ruining things for profit hurts in my core. After all, it’s what the Finn did to Zandia—or almost did. Thank veck we have our planet back.
“Right to the prison, then?”
“Yeah. Bounty hunters don’t waste time. And we need to work fast. We changed our ship ID to that of a bounty craft, but I don’t know how long that will fool them if they dig.”
I set the coordinates, and within a tick, we see the foreboding walls of the penitentiary building towering above us, gray, steel, thick. Impenetrable. Walking to the entrance, we smell rotting garbage mixed with the emissions from the local mining ops.
Gorde grunts. “Raxx said they disconnected the electro fence while they switch ownership.”
“Good. They’re not as organized at they want to seem.” I scan the foreground, senses alert. I touch the bag of stein at my waist. “And Ocretions are always open to bribes.”
“Here we go.” I take a breath. “Ready?”
“I was born ready.” There’s that tone in his voice, the one full of eager energy.
I raise my han
d and the Ocretion guard at the entrance pushes a button. The glass wall slides open.
“Bounty hunters.” I snap the words out, staring at the guard. “Understand you have my legal property on this site.”
He doesn’t react, and then a slow, unctuous smile spreads across his face. “Everything in this place is my property, now. Civilian.” He smirks. “You’ll address me with my rank, if you want to speak further. General Ofte. You low-lifes never get it right the first time.”
I snarl, as if I’m insulted, and lean forward, grabbing his collar. “You fetid corpse. I should cut you up right now.”
He stiffens under my hands, but his gaze doesn’t waver. He’s not worried, which means security here is tight. Veck.
“You do that, and you two will end up in the Pit.” He laughs. “Not a place anyone wants to be for a day, let alone eternity.”
“Refusal to relinquish legally owned bounty is punishable under galactic agreement X-27.” I force myself not to react to his threat. I release him with a shake, and dart my eyes to the side. More guards laze in a side room, but they’re listening. Watching. Armed. “Something I know you Ocretions take advantage of, often.”
“Who’s going to enforce that here?” His smirk makes it easy for me to act further enraged.
“Maybe I will, right here and now.” I reach forward again, but Benn is there in a flash, his hand on mine.
“Stand down,” he snaps, then his voice eases as he looks at the guard. “Heard that pay here is going down with the new ownership.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” But the guard leans forward, eyes glittering.
Benn shrugs and leans on the half wall, the partition separating the guard from us. “Doesn’t matter much to me. My salary’s the same, regardless of what I bring in.” He gestures to the locked inner doors, beyond which lie the holding cells. “In fact, I got a bonus this solar cycle for my efforts.” He raises a brow. “Nice to be recognized. Handsomely.”
“Must be.” The guard slides his eyes from Benn to me, to the other Ocretions in the side room. He clears his throat. “Perhaps I could see if your property is here. No promises.”
“Compensation is commensurate, of course. With what we get.” Benn touches a pouch at his side.
“Indeed.” The guard finally steps forward. “But you can’t take weapons into the prison, naturally. They’ll be safe here.” He gestures at a silver safe behind him. “So if you care to relinquish your protection, I can gladly take you on a tour.”
We expected this, but it still feels like ice in my chest to hand over my stunner and my dagger. Not that Master Seke didn’t train us to use anything and everything as a weapon, including our hands and feet. The guard scans us with a handheld wand, and takes my extra knife from my ankle. “Come, then.” He leads up to the main door and uses his fingerprint to open it. “Biometrics makes it easier to prevent escapes.” He smirks at us, his eyes cold.
“As it should be.” Benn’s voice is easy. “Living quarters here are difficult, I suppose. On the planet.”
“We get by.” The Ocretion lifts his hand and another door opens, thick glass and steel.
“We recently…acquired…a shipment.” Benn keeps pace with the guard, while I follow behind. “Luxury items from Matrigar. Worth a hundred thousand stein. As soon as my ship leaves this airspace safely with our prisoner’s live bio IDs on board, I can have it diverted here. Automatically in the system, no override. To thank you for your troubles.”
The guard laughs. “Careful, aren’t you?”
“Is there any other way to be?”
“Show me.” The guard stops in front of a cell, a dank, dark hole in the wall that makes me want to shudder. Instead, I roll my eyes and tap my foot.
Benn pulls up his comm. “All we need is both of our digisigs and it’s done. Assuming we exit with our appropriate cargo, of course.”
“Of course.” The guard affixes his thumb to the tablet. Then he raises his hand and the door slides open and lights come on.
I catch my breath. Blinking in the back corner of the cell, dirty and bloody, is a Zandian. My heart fills with anger to see one of my own in such condition, and the red that fills my eyes clouds my vision.
“He was…uncooperative.” The guard smirks, goes up to the Zandian, and kicks him in the ribs, evoking a painful sigh. The male’s mouth is so battered he can’t talk. His eyes are swollen shut. “But we have ways of ensuring that our prisoners go where we tell them.” He removes a shock stick from his waist and readies it. “Get up.”
I clench my fists, ready to roar, to rip off this guard’s head. Benn steps forward. “If he’s not in condition to fly, the deal is off. We need him alive.”
The guard steps back, puts up his hands. “Of course.” He looks at us. “Wanted for theft and smuggling, level H. Carries a death sentence, or so his file reads.” He turns to the prisoner. “Happy travels. He’s all yours.”
Our headgear hides our horns, and the SkinSan masks our color, but the Zandian recognizes us as brothers; I can see it in the way he tilts his head, looking at us through swollen slits, the way he gasps when our hands grasp his arms. I’m enraged that they coded him like a slave.
I want to be gentle, but we’re bounty hunters, so I keep my expression and movements impersonal. “Come with us now or it won’t end well for you,” I snap to him, roughly hoisting him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
He licks his lips and croaks. “I…need…”
He needs crystals, or he’ll die. But just being near us is having a restorative effect, because his breathing evens out and he blinks.
‘You’ll get water on the transport ship,” I say, frowning at him, shaking my head. We walk him down the hallway, and my pulse races as we reach the final door, because what I see makes my adrenaline surge.
Two Ocretion guards stand in front of the door, hands on their weapons. Two more stand to the side, one of them talking into a com. They all turn slowly to look at us, as if watching a holo vid. Entertainment. One of them smirks and rubs his hands together.
Our guard stops in front of the door, but doesn’t open it. He steps back. “Our journey together ends here.” He raises his shock stick and the others draw weapons. “I think that having three Zandians could be a wonderful bargaining chip. More important to me than your steins. I imagine King Zander would give a fair amount of crystals to get you three back, with most of your limbs intact.” He eyes the bag at Benn’s side. “Although we’ll take that, too. I’ll miss the luxury items, but oh, well.” He laughs. “New facial recognition tech with deep-IR. You can’t fool Ocretions. Not anymore.” He smirks and lunges, and so do the others.
Benn and I drop the rescued Zandian, and whirl to face our opponents. I leap and kick, using the heel of my boot to smash into the Ocretion’s sturdy jaw. The crack of his bone and his high scream echo off the polished corridor walls, and his shock stick flashes as it flies from his hand. Benn grunts as one of the Zandians hits him with the stunner, but his protective garb prevents damage. Still, he stumbles, and I grab him, keeping him on his feet, before turning. “You got this,” I mutter, turning to the next guard.
“This is what you can do” —I kick— “with your”—a powerful punch sends one of them flying into the smooth wall, his skull hitting with a satisfying crack, his neck shooting forward and then going slack, his eyes draining of color as he slumps down the wall to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth— “deep. IR.”
I elbow the Ocretion in front of me with all of my force, right into his nasal bone, and feel it give. Benn drops the last one and the two of us pant, Benn bending over, hands on knees. My eye stings and when I wipe, my hand comes away purple with blood. Mine, because it doesn’t have the sulphur-like stench of Ocretion blood and innards, although their stink is on us now, all around.
Benn’s gaze is wild, his eyes fierce. “We need to get out. Now.”
I take a deep breath and grab the fallen Zandian, who’s
breathing shallowly, his face pale, his horns shriveled. “He’s dying. We need to get him to the ship.” I hoist him to his feet, ignoring the pain in my left side from the blaster blow.
Benn wipes his mouth and grabs the Zandian’s arm. “Let’s go.”
We’re already out of the prison, and our transport is still there in the lot. Nobody pays us much attention; bloody beings dragged off are clearly not out of the norm here. As we get in, I scan the prison behind us. “It’s a matter of time before the entire local force of Ocretions comes after us.”
“Ocretions love a good hunt.” Benn grimaces. “And torture before killing their prey.”
I grunt, setting the coordinates for our ship. “Once we get him on board, we take off immediately and get out of this sovereign airspace. You set the pilot details and I’ll get him into the med pod.”
But when we reach our ship and board, not without difficulty, I curse to myself, because our problems have just magnified. The magnet cuff dangles from the wall, empty. Danica is gone.
Danica
The boots are too big, but they protect my feet from the baking hot ground. This planet is dry and dusty, and my forehead breaks out in sweat immediately as I leave the craft. I cough, and grab my mouth—I need to be quiet, no matter how fetid and polluted the air. My lungs sting as I breathe, short shallow breaths, and I cough again as I dart from behind our craft to the next one.
“Our” craft—no. My captors’ craft.
I push back the memories of our night together, the surprising passion, and scan the area. I won’t be safe until I’m a free woman. I’m definitely not going to Zandia to be a breeder, and have my secret found out. No, I’m going to take my chances out here, because in this vast galactic parking lot, I know I can find a craft that’s headed to the place I need to go. Jesel.
I pull the thick, hanging jacket closer around me, glad that the clothing bin included headgear, which I used to tie up and hide my hair. With my baggy, rough garments and the dirt I’ve put onto my face, I can pass for a male. On this way station, beings of all species intermingle, albeit for a short while, just here to refuel or stock their craft. They’re technically no-aggression zones, these outposts, and that weighs in my favor.