Nalina
NALINA
T he stink of ozone and hot metal hit my nose before I pushed through Odra’s doors. Inside, machines whirred and clanked, casting strange shadows across walls covered in spare parts. The air smelled like the bar during cleaning - hot metal and ozone, with undertones of grease. A broken cargo loader spewed its guts across the floor - servos and circuit boards scattered like entrails. Just another day of keeping the station’s aging equipment running.
“Watch your step.” Odra hunched over his workbench, three eye stalks swaying as he picked through drone components. His skin rippled from deep blue to pale green when he spotted me. “You’re early.”
“And you’re grumpy.” I picked my way through the chaos. “Bad morning?”
“Had to pull an all-nighter fixing the environmental controls for Blue Section,” his fingers never stopped moving, weaving wires together with practiced grace. “Some genius tried a DIY repair with copper wire. Nearly fried half the system.”
“Could’ve been worse. Remember when I was your apprentice? That time I crossed the wrong relays and blew out power to half of Yellow Section?”
Odra’s third eye stalk twitched, a tell I remembered from my training days. “You always did push yourself too hard. Some things never change.” His skin flickered with amusement. “Three years of teaching you maintenance basics before you decided bartending was more profitable. At least you learned enough to keep the Horizon’s systems running.” He set down his tools. “Speaking of repairs...”
His skin darkened. “That Vinduthi warrior’s been asking around the merchant’s corridor. Not subtle about it either. Half my suppliers mentioned him stopping by.”
My stomach dropped. “How did you-”
“Please. News travels fast when someone that big starts poking around.” He set down his tools. “You picking fights with the wrong people again?”
“Not exactly.” I leaned against his workbench. “I need a favor.”
“Of course you do.” His skin flickered through shades of yellow and gray. “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”
“The kind that needs privacy.”
Odra’s eye stalks swiveled toward the back room. “Fine. But if this brings trouble to my door...”
“It won’t. Promise.”
“Your promises aren’t worth much these days.” But he waved me toward the storage area anyway. “Try not to knock anything over back there. Some of that equipment’s older than you are.”
And he would know. Odra had taught me more than just basic maintenance during my apprenticeship. He’d shown me how to navigate the station’s oldest systems - the ones installed before standardized security, still running on original protocols.
Most of the newer maintenance workers didn’t even know these legacy systems existed. But Odra believed in understanding the station’s history, and those old access routes had saved my life more than once.
The back room smelled of dust and machine oil. Shelves towered with outdated tech, creating narrow corridors between stacks of parts. Perfect for a private conversation - or an ambush.
Heavy footsteps approached from the front. Odra’s skin rippled dark purple.
“Your friend’s here.” His eye stalks contracted. “Should I start pricing new equipment now, or wait until after you two wreck my shop?”
“No one’s wrecking anything.” I hoped.
Tyrix ducked through the doorway, his markings standing out against his gray skin in the faint light. His gaze swept the room with predatory efficiency before settling on me.
“Odra seems... protective,” he observed, following as I wound deeper into the maze of shelves.
“He’s seen me get into enough trouble.” I paused to check a diagnostic panel, more from habit than necessity. “Taught me everything I know about the station’s guts.”
“Including where to have private conversations?” His presence filled the narrow space behind me, radiating heat.
I glanced back, caught the dangerous curve of his smile. “The machinery noise helps. Blocks most surveillance.” I pressed deeper into the shadows, where ancient server banks hummed their endless songs. “Though it also means no one would hear you scream.”
“That’s not as reassuring as you probably think it is.”
His lips twitched. “You’re not afraid.”
“Should I be?”
“Most humans are.”
“Most humans haven’t seen you get worried about a little scrape on her arm.” I tapped my forearm where a layer of nuskin covered the wound, then leaned against a shelf of defunct processors, studying him. “If you wanted me dead, you’ve had plenty of chances.”
He moved closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “The Consortium. What do you know about their activities here?”
I blinked, thrown by the direct question. “The Consortium? They’re just another corp trying to get a foothold out here.” I ducked under a hanging cluster of cables, needing space to think. “Though there have been rumors...”
“What kind of rumors?” He followed, silent despite his size.
“Just bar talk.” I ran my fingers along a row of parts, buying time. “You know how people get after a few drinks. Complaining about new security protocols, supply shortages.” I glanced back at him. “Though lately...”
“Lately?”
“The stories are different. Maintenance crew found modifications to life support they can’t explain. Cargo manifests that don’t match what’s actually being moved.” I shrugged, aiming for casual. “But that’s normal for the Edge. Everyone’s got something to hide out here.”
His eyes narrowed. “When did these... irregularities start?”
“People always talk. But the past few months...” I hesitated. “The whispers have changed. More folks looking over their shoulders. Some regulars stopped coming in altogether.”
Instead of responding, he pulled out a small holoprojector. “Dr. Ravika Gondon.” The image flickered to life, showing an Orlian woman. Her sand-colored skin had the fine, almost translucent quality common to her species, and the membranous cooling frills along her arms were clearly visible beneath her lab coat.
Large eyes, adapted for the pale light of her homeworld, seemed to look right through the hologram. Despite the graceful features typical of Orlians, there was something hard in her expression, a coldness that seemed at odds with her species’ usual warmth.
“Genetic scientist with a specialty in neural plasticity. Used to be a big name. Four months ago, she went silent.”
“And you’re, what – worried about her safety?”
His lips curved in a humorless smile. “Her son hired me three weeks ago. Wealthy Orlian trader who’d been trying to handle things quietly - worried about his mother’s reputation in the scientific community. But after four months of excuses from her colleagues and blocked comm channels, he got desperate enough to hire outside help. I tracked her movements to this station, but then the trail went cold.”
“You think the Consortium’s involved?”
“I think it’s... convenient that she arrived here just as their medical operations are expanding.” He switched off the projection. “Yesterday’s agents confirmed it. The way they moved, their precision - that wasn’t regular corporate security. That was Consortium Special Operations. The same unit I’ve seen protecting their high-value research facilities in other sectors.”
I studied him. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because Jevik saw something that scared him badly enough to risk coming to your bar when he was already sick. And now the Consortium’s hunting him.” Tyrix moved closer, his voice dropping. “We need to find him first. Before they silence him permanently.”
“Or before whatever’s wrong with him gets worse,” I added. “He looked like death when I saw him.”
“You helped him escape once. Any idea where he might have gone?”
I shook my head. “He’s just another regular. Comes in when he needs a quiet drink, sometimes talks too much after a few rounds. That’s how most of us learn anything on this station – drunk people love to chat.” I thought for a moment. “But there’s this info broker in Green Section, runs a shop. She hears things too, same as any of us who deal with the public all day.”
A crash from the front room cut me off. Odra’s muffled curse followed.
“Everything okay out there?” I called.
“Fine! Just a customer asking about parts for their atmo-scrubber. Give me a minute!” Another bump. “Stay back there until they leave.”
The sound of haggling drifted back, but something in Odra’s tone made my skin prickle. His words were too careful, too measured.
Tyrix must have sensed it too. He moved with liquid grace, pressing me further into the shadows between shelves. My back hit cool metal, sending a cascade of small parts skittering behind me. His body curved around mine, one arm braced against the shelf above my head while his other hand settled at my waist - protective rather than restraining.
The shelf above us groaned softly, and his grip tightened. I could feel his heartbeat now, faster than I’d expected for someone so controlled. Dust motes danced in the thin beam of light between us, stirred by our shortened breaths. His claws left tiny scratches in the metal beside my head, catching the light like stars.
“Someone’s scanning,” he whispered, his lips nearly brushing my ear. “Electronic sweep.”
I should focus on that threat. Should be planning our next move. Instead, all I could think about was how his thumb was tracing slow circles against my hip, how his scent wrapped around me like smoke.
“They’re gone,” he murmured, but didn’t step back.
I should push him away. Should put space between us before this got complicated. Instead, I found myself leaning into his warmth.
His thumb traced my bottom lip, feather-light. “Dangerous game you’re playing, little human.”
“I like dangerous games.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A growl rumbled in his chest. His head dipped lower, breath fanning across my skin. My eyes drifted closed...
“If you two are done hiding,” Odra called, “I’d like my shop back!”
Tyrix jerked away like I’d burned him. I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady my racing pulse.
“We should go,” he said roughly. “Find Jevik before they do.”
“Right.” I smoothed my shirt with trembling hands. “Business first.”
I stumbled slightly as we straightened up, my legs unexpectedly shaky. Strange.
I followed Tyrix out, ignoring Odra’s knowing look. The recycled station air felt cool against my flushed skin.
“So this trader,” Tyrix said as we walked, “you think that data broker will actually help us?”
“Maybe. She’s like me - keeps her ears open, remembers what drunk people say. Out here on the Edge, that’s usually all the network anyone has.” I shrugged. “It’s not much, but sometimes it’s enough.”
He nodded, falling into step beside me. We headed for the transit tube in silence, both lost in our own thoughts about what we might find - and what it might cost us to find it.