Chapter 25 - Prax
I make sure Neela is fast asleep before I sneak out of our shelter.
It's the middle of the night, and an eerie stillness hangs in the air.
The sky is overcast, completely blocking the faint glow Phobos could've offered.
Fine by me. I can handle darkness just fine—and in fact, it makes me less visible.
Before I leave the thicket that hides our camp, I hesitate.
Should I mark the area with my pheromones like I usually do?
The scent normally keeps predators at bay—it works pretty well, actually.
But if another Sadjim—or worse, a Srebat—is working with Bully, it'll be like waving a red flag to show them exactly where I’ve stashed my mate.
I decide to skip the marking this time and rely on the hope that any feline-type who gets close will still smell my presence.
I move cautiously, placing each step with care. Judging by the heavy silence, their base seems to be asleep. But I know Penubiens. They're cunning and sneaky bastards. Nothing should ever be taken for granted with them.
When I finally reach their camp, I grit my teeth in frustration.
There are more ships than I expected. A large, makeshift hangar sits in the middle of the wide clearing—probably to store gear or cages.
I count four two-seaters on the right and a transport vessel on the left, beyond the hangar.
Disappointingly, Bully’s single-seater is nowhere in sight.
I creep closer to the central building, hoping to get a better look at what's inside. No luck. It's made of old Coalition-grade composite—no windows, no opacity controls. Which means I can't see or hear a thing from the inside.
As for the five ships parked in the clearing, they’ve all got their access ramps closed for the night. No time to waste, especially with the bitter cold seeping through even my thermo-regulated gear. Good thing my fur’s thick.
I make my way back to camp and find Neela still asleep. I pull her close, savoring her warmth—but I don’t close my eyes. My brain spins through dozens of scenarios, peppered with a thousand questions.
How many are there? Eight? Ten? Twelve? More?
Where the hell is Bully?
Does the rest of the Coalition know about these two unguarded planets sitting in this solar system like low-hanging fruit? Or did Bully keep it quiet among a few trusted cronies?
Can I take them all on by myself?
How do I keep Neela safe while I act?
By the time the first light creeps in, I still haven’t made up my mind. Pallas and my beautiful Human are both asleep. In a flash, I know what I’m going to do. I grab both my pistoblasters, set them to lethal mode, and head back to their base. Time to make a move.
From a hidden spot, I scope the area. I get a good view of the machines on the ground and keep quiet.
The ship ramps are now down, and I spot two figures at the hangar’s entrance.
Doesn't tell me much about where the rest of the crew is—except these two are definitely Penubiens. That scaly greenish skin, tinged red at the head, is unmistakable. I don’t see anyone else.
Either they’re in the hangar or still inside the ships.
I listen carefully and pick up their snake-like voices. One is offering the other a stick of urak—a dried plant they roll up and smoke like some kind of alien cigar. Pretty popular among a few species.
“Once break’s over, we start loading the cages onto the cargo ship. I want that done before the boss shows up,” one says.
They’re speaking in Penubien—a language the Coalition’s translators don’t cover. But mine’s Confed-issued. Nothing gets lost.
I wonder who this “boss” is. Could it be Bully? That would explain why he’s not around.
“When’s he getting here?” the second one asks.
“He went with Franly to straighten things out at the other colony. One of his pawns over there was getting a bit too comfy, or so I heard.”
“All right, shouldn’t take long then. We’d better get moving.”
“You got it. Mank, Gund! Start loading in five minutes!” he yells into the hangar.
So, two on the doorstep, two inside. Since Franly is Bully's closest cousin, I now have my answer: Bully is indeed their leader. No surprise there. Bully always had ambition bursting out his scales. Even back when we worked together, he’d get on my case for lacking “vision.” I owned the ship, so he had to play by my rules—but he always wanted more.
Me? I liked simple jobs. Loot a few precious resources from peaceful villages, lay low, and stretch the profits.
Low risk, high reward. Rinse, repeat. Occasionally, I’d feel a twinge of guilt stealing from people who barely had anything, but I pushed that feeling away—until one woman made me stop pretending.
Bully, though? He’s not the self-reflective type. When our partnership ended, it unshackled him completely. Now there’s no one telling him, “Hey, maybe don’t enslave half a planet.” He’s the kind of guy who sees limits as personal challenges. Ethics? Compassion? Not even in his vocabulary.
The two Penubians finish their break and step into the hangar.
I take the opportunity to slip off to the right, heading for the two-seater ships.
I target the farthest one. Drawing both my weapons, I stride up the ramp with steady resolve and dive into its belly.
This kind of ship only has a cockpit at the front and a small relaxation area in the back, with two retractable bunk drawers.
The restroom is located at the tail end.
Inside, a Penubian is sprawled on one of the bunks, clearly enjoying some alone time.
From what I hear, the second one's in the shower.
No hesitation—I shoot the one on the bunk first. He'd already sprung up, fangs out, ready to rip my throat out.
He collapses silently back onto the mattress.
My lovely Human would probably scold me for not just knocking him out.
But I know this organization—and this species—far too well.
Leaving him alive means giving him a chance to kill me within the hour, once the stun effect wears off. I have to take them out one by one.
I move silently to the back. One of them is in the shower, facing away.
“Zshuit chauitz scahtri?” he hisses, expecting company.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I won’t be joining you in there,” I say, and pull the trigger.
Confederation pistoblasters are efficient like that—clean kills. One sharp burst, and the nervous, neurological, and muscular systems shut down instantly. No mess, no stench. Which is ideal, since Penubian blood smells like a rotting sea slug mixed with burnt vinegar.
I drag the first body into the shower and stash the second one with it. Two corpses, neatly tucked away in the restroom.
I take a deep breath and pause at the top of the ramp. With this ship cleared of unwanted company, time to move on to the next.
Ship number two doesn’t go quite as smoothly.
Both Penubians are in the main room. I shoot the one on my right—the closer target.
The other lunges, mouth open, fangs flared.
My weapon drops. We're locked in a brutal fight. He grins, eyes gleaming with murderous joy. This guy’s a seasoned killer. He’s enjoying this.
We trade blows in a deadly dance, every move critical.
I dodge his venomous fangs, breath controlled, senses razor-sharp.
I search for an opening. He jabs. I parry.
He kicks. I counter. Each hit sends shocks of pain through my already bruised ribs.
I pretend to stagger, baiting him. He lunges, certain of victory—exactly what I wanted.
I slide under his guard and slam my fist into his knee.
He stumbles—I slip behind him, grab his chin, and twist hard. A loud crack, then dead weight.
I drop him and suck in a few precious breaths. I retrieve my weapon from the floor. Two ships down, two to go. Plus a transport ship that could carry up to six crew members. I inhale deeply and brace for the next round.
The remaining two-seaters are along the edge of the clearing. I loop back under the trees for cover. Good call. I spot four Penubians circled around a cage I hadn’t seen before.
The transparent composite crate sits between the ships.
Inside, a large feline paces, restless. The scumbags have deactivated the opacity panels, but kept the sound muted—which explains why I hadn’t heard its cries.
They poke at the poor animal, taunting it one by one.
Real brave, guys. I’d love to see that lynx—because I’m pretty sure that’s what it is—break free and show them just how fun their game is.
Still, it's a solid distraction. All their attention is on the cat.
I sneak closer.
When I’m within thirty feet, the feline freezes and locks eyes with me.
Instantly, its tormentors follow its gaze. So much for the element of surprise.
I shoot at the one farthest left—and miss. Damn it!
Two of them are armed. They fire back. I leap to the side, dodging nimbly. Their pistols aren’t like mine. They shoot hyper-concentrated laser bursts. Crude, but powerful enough to tear through limbs—or people.
I holster both pistoblasters and close in, forcing them into hand-to-hand. Risky? Sure. But it’s an option.
I plant myself, muscles coiled, ready. The two gunmen step forward, weapons raised. I duck behind the guy on my right. Too late for him—his buddy’s shot hits his shoulder, nearly ripping it off. The poor bastard screams, clutching the shredded limb, green blood gushing. Yeah, he’s done for.
“Shzhit chrstrrw zstkrt!” the shooter yelps, rushing toward his wounded friend.
Tough luck, buddy. You just shot your cousin—or whoever. That’s why amateurs shouldn’t play with serious weapons.
Enraged, the second armed thug tosses his gun and charges with the fourth Penubian, both of them baring their poisoned fangs.
Yeah, yeah, impressive chompers. Let me try and avoid those.
I kick one in the gut—he stumbles but stays upright. I follow up with a punch, sending the other sprawling dangerously close to his discarded weapon.
Go ahead, try it again. I’m watching.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the first one has bled out. The second one climbs to his feet, eyes blazing with hatred. Nothing new.
I need to stop playing around. Three-on-one isn’t a fair game. Time to end it.
I rush the nearest thug and slash his throat with my claws. He looks genuinely surprised as he clutches his neck.
Another one tackles me, and we crash to the ground. The last guy joins in. A wild shot hits the control panel of the cage. It vanishes—and the lynx is free.
The big cat springs, pouncing on one of the Penubians. Leaves me with just one more to deal with.
Ow! Bastard managed to sink a fang into my forearm. Not deep enough to poison me fully, but it burns like hell.
Annoyed, I kick him hard in the throat. As he gasps, I draw two shurikens from my jacket. One lands dead center in his forehead. The other hits his jugular. Case closed.
I glance at the lynx. It's watching me, alert, ready to pounce if I make a wrong move. I turn my back, approach my last victim, retrieve my weapons, clean them, and sheathe them again. I hear the cat retreat into the forest.
All four two-seaters cleared. I could grab one and escape with Neela—but I hate sloppy work. One transport ship left, and a hangar full of "cargo," both inanimate and breathing.
No time to check on Neela. I need to strike while I have the upper hand.
I circle the main hangar and approach the transport ship. Guns drawn, I sprint up the ramp. The cargo bay’s half-filled with opaque cages—no idea what’s inside. Access to the upper deck is by ladder. I climb quickly. To the left: cockpit. To the right: four doors, one labeled restroom.
Doesn’t matter. I check them all.
A few minutes later, I’ve cleared the ship. Empty. That means the crew’s in the hangar. I hope they haven’t found their fallen comrades yet. Better to keep the surprise factor on my side.
Before entering the final building, I adjust one of my pistoblasters to stun mode. If I’m sure someone’s a smuggler, I’ll use the lethal setting. But if there’s a chance they’re a civilian, I’d rather not add innocent blood to today’s mess.
I take a long breath to steady my heartbeat—and to sniff the air. Can’t see inside, but I can hear and smell. Urak. Coffee. Sweat. Not helpful. Still… I pick up sounds. Something being moved? A cage?
I rush in and scan fast.
To the left, multiple holding cubes. Some transparent, others not. Inside, Humans—prisoners. One Penubian sits in a chair, watching them with a smug look. I shoot him without hesitation.
Three left. Two pushing a crate toward a loading rig. One guiding them. They turn when they hear the body fall—perfect. I shoot a second.
Then, a violent blow slams into my back. I’m thrown forward, guns slipping from my grasp.
Shit! Didn’t see that one coming. Must’ve been hiding in the shadows. Great. Another brawl. And it’s not even noon yet. What a crap morning.
Like earlier, the fight’s savage. I dodge a punch from the right, then land a kick. One guy lunges—bad move. I nail him with an elbow to the ribs. He squeals. Yeah, pal. Cracked ribs hurt. I’d know.
The third screams and charges headfirst. I sidestep—but not in time to dodge the fist that slams into my cheekbone.
Damn it. I’m already beat up. They’re fresh. I’m outnumbered. My confidence dips.
We keep trading hits. Sweat and blood blur my vision. My ears ring. But then—I hear a new arrival. A high-pitched whistle.
My blood runs cold.
Bully.
“Stop!” he shouts.
My former partner turned enemy stands at the hangar entrance, holding my mate in front of him, a weapon pressed to her temple.