Beyond the Shadows

by Jess Granger

  A creepy feeling slithered up her back and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  It was too still.

  She walked forward but kept her sono ready as she held her head high.

  Someone watched her, assessing.

  She prepared herself for attack even as Tuz jumped down to the ground, his fur rising on his back. The smell of fouled water and rats caught in her nose as she passed a dark alley. This was the sort of place where pirates did quiet deals, deals best made in the shadows.

  Did Cyrus frequent this place? Where else would he get projectile weapons?

  She was right to leave.

  Quickening her pace, she reached the gates to the far docks. A Bacarilen transport ship squatted on the far platform, while a crew of red-haired women worked to load the last of several shipping containers into the belly of the massive cargo bay.

  Thank Isa. She wasn’t too late.

  Yara jogged to the ship and caught sight of the captain reviewing a holo image from a com.

  “Captain Brill?” Yara nodded in greeting to the other woman, who looked up from her com in surprise. “I’m Commander Yara. I’m seeking passage back to Azra.”

  Any hint at emotion faded from the captain’s well-tanned face as she pinched her lips tight. “I remember you.”

  Good. They had gone several rounds over that contract, but the captain had bent in the end. Yara stood straighter. She wasn’t here to make friends. This was business, something she knew Brill understood. She was here to book passage. “When do you launch?”

  The captain looked up over Yara’s shoulder and squinted. Yara glanced back. A cloaked pirate stood in the shadows with his arms crossed. The creeping feeling slid back down her neck. The sooner she got out of there, the better.

  “In two hours. Passage will cost you forty-eight.” The captain clicked off her com and lifted her sharp chin. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

  Tuz pressed up against Yara’s shins, nearly forcing her to step backward. He growled at the man in the shadows. “Done.”

  “I should welcome you aboard, Commander.” The captain waved a nonchalant hand to a hard-looking woman with a long nose and square face. “Take the commander up to my lounge.”

  “Captain, the launch codes are integrated and cargo—” the crewmate began.

  The captain held up her hand. “Later. I have one more deal to negotiate. Take care of our guest.”

  Yara walked alongside the crewmate, down the ornately decorated corridors of the ship. She remembered the way to the captain’s lounge from the last time she’d been on board. Brill had preferred to negotiate in familiar territory. Bacarilen traders lived exclusively on their ships. Yara hadn’t given in to intimidation and had talked the captain down quite a bit from her initial contract. At the time it was quite a victory. Now it felt good to be away from the docks and the ill feeling in her gut.

  Yara sank into a plush red seat that smelled like gin smoke and waited for the captain to return. Within hours, she’d be back on Azra and able to cut off Palar’s coup at the knees.

  Brill returned sooner than Yara expected. She strode into the room with an arrogant swagger and lit a sharp-smelling cigar. Without saying a word, the captain poured herself some white-lace sugar rumma, and steeped some Azralen ciera tea for Yara. The elixir Cyrus had given her was still making her extremely thirsty. Yara was glad for the drink. It smelled stale, but she was too thirsty to care. She took a long draught and placed it on the table between them.

  The captain smiled.

  Yara didn’t like the predatory expression on the other woman’s face.

  “You know, the contract you negotiated cost me quite a bit over the last couple of years,” she admitted.

  What did she expect? Yara had done her job and had looked out for Azra’s trade interests. Her arms felt heavy.

  “It was a tough negotiation. I look forward to another round when the contract is up.” Yara blinked. It was probably exhaustion. Tuz sniffed at her drink and hissed. The lights on his collar activated.

  “Another round?” Brill chuckled. “I think I prefer to negotiate with Palar. She’s been very generous and promised me much more profitable contracts as soon as she ascends the throne of Azra.” The captain smirked as she stepped forward. Yara tried to stand but stumbled.

  Palar? By Fima the Merciless, Brill was supporting her rival. This wasn’t exhaustion. Shakt.

  “Did you enjoy your drink?” Brill asked. “It should make your trip to Krona more comfortable.”

  She wouldn’t. No.

  “Tuz, run.” Yara fell while her scout growled. “Run!” she shouted, before her strength completely gave out.

  Tuz hissed. Yara watched as he streaked out of the lounge.

  “Get that cat!” The words sounded distorted to her drugged senses as the room blurred then turned black.

  7

  CYN EASED THE CONVERTER ONTO THE BED OF A GROUND-RUNNER USING THE awkward controls of the angrav lift while Maxen gathered the tools he needed from his loft. Cyn winced as the nearly spherical polyhedron surrounded by a geometric web of dull and very heavy dark carbon slid too close to the edge of the bed of the truck. Pulling it back up, he tried again. The last thing he needed to do was bust the new converter.

  “You sure you know how to use that thing?” Maxen called from a loft perched above the large hangar. Tools and parts clanged against the steel floor as the mechanic rummaged around in his stash.

  Cyn ignored him and concentrated, bringing the converter down square on the bed. The antique wheeled transport groaned under the weight as it shifted and settled. Cyn doubted the old runner would still roll under the load.

  “Strap it down tight,” Maxen called from the balcony of the loft. He slung an enormous bag filled with heavy tools effortlessly over his back and climbed down the creaking ladder.

  Sunlight broke through the overcast sky, hitting the skylights in the roof of the hangar. Light swelled in the empty space in spite of the yellowed crystal panes and the years of dust and industrial grime.

  Cyn hurried to secure the converter. He had to get outside while the sun was shining. He secured the final link with a twist of his wrist then trotted to the open doors of the hangar.

  Bully, Maxen’s enormous guard dog, lifted his boxy head to acknowledge Cyn, then flopped back down in a patch of sunlight. Cyn closed his eyes and lifted his face to the warmth. He rolled up his sleeves and held out his hands but didn’t feel like enough of his skin was exposed.

  How had he ever survived the shadows?

  He had to help the others still trapped there.

  “Hey, I thought you were in a hurry,” Maxen called as he dumped the bag in the back of the runner, making the old cargo truck sink deeper on its wheels.

  “I am. Let’s get going.” Cyn turned to join Maxen at the runner, when a flash of green caught his eye.

  Crap.

  Bug flew toward him, his green aura streaking like a comet tail. He whistled in alarm.

  “What happened?” Cyn nearly shouted the question as he held his palm out. Bug landed on it, barely able to perch on his wobbling legs. He wheezed a short series of low whistles.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Cyn dropped his hand, and Bug fell several feet before catching himself and resuming his hover.

  Damn it!

  Cyn wrenched the door of the runner open and flung himself inside. “We’ve got to go. Now,” he insisted.

  Maxen eased into the driver’s seat. “Lady trouble?”

  “Shut up. Just drive.” Cyn scowled as Maxen placed his metal palm against the drive panel and triggered the ignition.

  “You asked for it.”

  Cyn had to brace himself against the door as the runner leapt forward, plowing over the uneven road and turning wildly through the narrow lanes of the city.

  Cyn clenched his teeth as his hands dug into the console in front of him. A man with a crate of fowl leapt out of the way while Maxen drove with mechani
cal indifference to his speed, or to the chaos around him.

  Maxen directed the truck by the computer system integrated in his brain through the linking ports in his palm. The truck became a seamless extension of his bio-mech parts, and Maxen drove it like a madman.

  The old truck roared and jumped, leaping out of the way of obstacles and dodging around the terrified men in the streets without once touching anyone or nicking anything.

  “What did you do to this thing?” Cyn forced out while clinging to the monster runner.

  “I fixed it,” Maxen declared, spinning the back wheels of the truck so the back end of the runner swung out in a wild arc, enabling them to turn down another alley.

  Cyn ducked as they punched through a closed gate, then jerked to a stop by the north gates of the docks.

  Dust rose in a cloud around them as Cyn’s heart pounded.

  “We’re here.” Maxen smiled.

  Cyn would have decked the man, but the bastard couldn’t feel it. Instead he eased out of the old runner and let the heavy door swing back before stalking forward in an attempt to get his legs back under him.

  Polarx waddled up from the control array at the center of the docks. “You’re back so soon! Going to get to work on that converter, ah. What a mess. It’s a good thing your passenger found new transport.”

  Cyn had hoped Bug made some sort of mistake, but deep down he knew that was unlikely. Shit.

  “Where did she go?”

  “She was interested in the Bacarilen transport docked over in the Blackstock.”

  “Damn it.” She’d have to pass through Aggen Street to get there. Yara wouldn’t get taken without a fight, but flesh traders were masters at striking without warning. People just disappeared. Boom, gone.

  If she made it through that den of shadows, then he had a new problem. If she’d signed onto a Bacarilen ship, it was a good possibility she’d be home within hours. He couldn’t allow that. How would he get her off the ship? She wouldn’t come willingly, and the Bacarilen would probably back her up. They were close trade allies with Azra.

  “I have to stop that ship.”

  “I can stop it right now, no problem,” Maxen admitted. “I’ll just call in the circle.”

  Cyn didn’t want to bring pirate law into this, but he didn’t have any other choice. He couldn’t stop the ship on his own.

  “What will you hold them on?” he asked.

  Maxen shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll think of something when we get there.”

  “Do it,” Cyn urged, knowing Maxen only had to think to send a message to the pirate enforcers.

  “Already done.”

  “Polarx, can we borrow a runner?” Cyn asked as Maxen stepped up next to him. He didn’t want to damage the converter with more of Maxen’s driving.

  “Ah! My pleasure. I’ll add it to your docking fees.” He tossed a code key to Cyn, but Maxen snatched it out of the air with the unnatural speed of his right hand.

  “I’m driving,” Cyn insisted.

  “You drive like an old woman.” Maxen jogged over to the younger and unburdened runner and pulled himself into the driver’s seat. Cyn grumbled as he took the passenger side and strapped himself in.

  After a harrowing ride through the mineral markets, they arrived at the Blackstock. The Bacarilen ship still perched on the western end of the dock. Cyn felt a rush of relief burn down his back and arms. They didn’t have much time.

  Maxen brought the runner to a skidding stop, and Cyn leapt out as if the thing were on fire.

  A small transport lifted off from the far ends of the docks. The roar of its engines sent a turbulent hot wind through the open platforms. Cyn strode with purpose and military bearing as he approached the Bacarilen ship.

  Three crewmates worked on stowing the last of the shipping containers and securing the lift. One of them spared Cyn an unimpressed scowl.

  “Ship’s due to launch. We’re closed to trade,” she stated once the roar from the transport died down.

  “How about stage passage?” Cyn asked. “You have anyone traveling with you?”

  The girl locking the straps on a container watched him with a superior expression.

  “We haven’t taken on any guests this trip. Why? You looking for passage?”

  Liar. Cyn hoped the circle arrived soon.

  A fourth Bacarilen, a tall woman with a high-collar coat, stepped out of the shadows. “Is something wrong here?”

  “We need to speak with the captain,” Maxen demanded.

  “She’s busy. I’m the second in command of the ship. We’re due to launch.” She clasped her hands behind her back, but Cyn caught a glimpse of some deep red welts forming on her wrist. Cat scratches.

  Bacarilen never kept pets.

  “Have a run-in with an Azralen korcas cat?” Cyn asked.

  The woman straightened her shoulders and sneered.

  “Yara’s on this ship,” he stated.

  Suddenly the docks filled with the roar of fan engines as six hoverans flew over the crowded market and floated above the docks, their pulse cannons trained on the ship. Down draft from the spinning fans that gave the circular angrav ships their propulsion threw clouds of dust into the air. It provided cover for the runners descending on the ship like wolves. Cyn shielded his eyes as the hoverans surrounded the ship and eased to the ground in a lopsided circle. The pirates poured out of the vehicles, leaving one man behind in each craft to man the guns.

  “What is this about?” the scratched-up Bacarilen demanded.

  “We’re holding the ship,” Maxen announced.

  “On what charge?” Her eyes narrowed, then looked calculating as her lips turned up in a manipulative grin.

  “Why don’t you tell us?” Maxen stalled.

  The crowd of roughly thirty pirate enforcers closed ranks. Their faces were hard, diverse, an eclectic mix of everything the human races had to offer, but their expressions were all set with the same resolve.

  Maxen drew a sono. It became an integrated part of his metallic hand as he pointed it at the Bacarilen. “Bring out the Azralen, and we won’t search the ship.”

  “What is going on out here?” a shrill voice rose above the crowd as the Bacarilen captain descended the ramp leading up into the cargo hold.

  “Where’s the Azralen?” Cyn stated.

  “What Azralen?” she retorted. Voices rumbled, filling the docks as more merchants and traders entered the open space from the mineral markets. Everyone seemed to want a part of the spectacle.

  “Commander Yara.” Cyn searched the woman’s hands for any scratches. Maybe he was mistaken. “Polarx said he directed her to your ship to book stage passage.”

  “I haven’t seen any Azralen here,” the captain snapped a little too quickly. She turned on her heel and strode back toward the ship with the stiff spine of someone expecting to be struck in the back.

  “She’s a liar,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd. “I saw the Azralen pass by my stall.”

  The robotic voice of a trader with an old interpreter-collar added, “She boarded the ship.”

  “I’m inclined to believe the witnesses. What do you think, Cyrus?” Maxen asked. He lifted the sono to the captain. The crewmates that had been out on the lift jumped forward, but the second in command held them back with a single wave of her hand.

  “She’s on board,” Cyn affirmed.

  “Search the ship.” As soon as Maxen gave the order, a large man with deep brown skin and a wicked-looking DEC rifle rushed up the stairs, followed by at least fifteen others.

  “Care to confess now? It may lighten your sentencing,” Maxen offered the captain.

  “Go to Nek,” she snapped at him.

  “I hear it’s lovely this time of year.” Maxen smiled a cruel smile.

  Cyn crossed his arms. He had to wait for the circle to finish the search, and it was killing him. If he stepped in and interfered, he’d have to get mixed up in the trial. Right now this was Maxen’s game. He on
ly had one concern. He needed to find Yara, throw her pretty ass over his shoulder, drag her back to his ship, and then weather the wrath of her fury.

  Maxen went still for a fraction of a second. “Cyrus, they’re having a problem in the corridor. They need your help.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. He ran up the ramp and entered the crowded cargo bay. Bug zipped up beside him and landed on his shoulder.

  “Where have you been?” Cyn asked, as he passed by row after row of neatly stowed and aligned shipping containers.

  Bug’s aura pulsed in heavy exhausted heaves. He rattled off something about Maxen and his driving before shutting down. Cyn stashed him in his belt. A loud crash sounded in the corridor ahead of him, followed by a feline war cry and a string of foul curses.

  “Tuz!” Cyn shouted.

  He ran over the plush red carpeting of the opulent Bacarilen ship until he came to a jam of bodies in one of the corridors. Tuz growled, hissed, and one of the pirates came away holding a bloody hand.

  “Tuz, where’s Yara?” Cyn demanded.

  The cat howled then darted off down another corridor. Cyn pushed through the crowd and followed, entering a richly decorated lounge.

  A scrap of mismatched rug from the cargo bay lay askew by the couch. Tuz looked at it, spun and hunkered down on it, his yellow eyes slanting with feline concentration. He swished his dark tail and let out a low moan.

  The Bacarilen were practically genetically programmed to be obsessively neat. Not a single line in the room was askew, and something from the cargo bay didn’t belong in the captain’s lounge, though it would probably just look like a throw rug to anyone who didn’t know the Bacarilen as well as he did.

  He lifted the rug to find a damp spot and a tiny chip of pottery, barely noticeable to his naked eyes. The Bacarilen had rushed to hide the mess before they could clean it to their stringent standards.

  Cyn pulled Bug from his belt. Holding on to the bot with his left hand, he traced his finger around Bug’s edge to wake him up.

  Bug groaned, beeped, then rattled what could only be interpreted as mechanical snoring.