Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Arcanthus sat with his chair tilted back and his feet, crossed at their ankles, propped up on his desk. His tail swept back and forth over the floor behind him, keeping time with the dull metallic clanks produced by the fingers of one hand tapping the knuckles of the other.
His central eye dipped to the holocom atop the desk—Straek’s holocom. The screens in front of Arc, which displayed readouts from the programs he was running to overcome the holocom’s security, were unchanging save for the slow cycling of tiny numerals.
Most holocoms were exceptionally secure devices, but Arcanthus’s workarounds had been passed down from Zakarae, who herself had learned from some of the most skilled hackers on Caldorius. She’d taught him all he knew about hacking, and had thus laid the foundations for the life he’d led for the last decade.
Unfortunately, hacking was often a long, boring process, even after so many years to perfect his art. Were Zakarae alive, she undoubtedly could’ve accomplished this task in half the time.
He let his gaze wander around the workshop, paying little attention to what he saw; his mind seized the opportunity to turn toward Samantha.
He’d woken beside her a few hours ago, content and at ease. Though his problems hadn’t been solved while he slept, they’d seemed less formidable after some rest, and his frustrations had diminished. Much of that was disrupted when he reminded himself that he had work to do—and that he would need to isolate himself from Samantha in order to finish it.
Despite all that, the most pressing matter upon his awakening had been Samantha. She’d turned to face away from him during the night, and her rounded ass had been pressed against his slit. His cock had already extruded, its tendrils slowly caressing her skin. He’d been unable to resist his urges—he’d teased her awake with his hands, tail, and lips, and she’d been hot and ready when he slipped into her from behind.
He waited until after they’d cleaned up and shared a meal to tell her that he’d need to spend much of the day in his workshop.
Samantha had taken it well. She’d even been understanding when he told her that, though she was free to explore the compound, he’d instructed his security team to prevent her from leaving. Keeping her locked in here made his stomach sink, but she’d only kissed him, said it made sense, and laughed about not having anywhere else she needed to be.
Her easy acceptance of the situation only heightened his determination to find a solution. He refused to spend the rest of their years cowering behind these walls, refused to let the Syndicate dictate the way he and his mate lived, refused to hold her here like a prisoner. Even if she decided never to go outside, he needed to ensure it was her choice to make—not anyone else’s.
A soft chiming sound called his attention to one of the screens.
“About time,” he muttered, expanding the screen and drawing it closer. The security bypass had done its job; now it was up to Arcanthus to extract the information within.
Using a secondary screen, he confirmed his usual protections were in place before he proceeded—the last thing he needed was the holocom somehow pinging its location despite his safeguards. Once he was satisfied, he brought up the holocom’s internal menus on his main holo display.
There was little overtly incriminating data on the device—not that Arcanthus had expected there to be. The Inner Reach Syndicate had flourished because it was adept at minimizing evidence and bribing the right officials. Even low-level skrudges like Straek needed to be smart enough to cover their tracks. Anyone who leaked information in such organizations—whether the leak was voluntary or accidental—was dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.
After a little digging and cracking two more passcodes, Arcanthus gained access to Straek’s stored images. To anyone who didn’t know any better, it would’ve simply been a collection of pictures with exotic aliens as their subjects. But Arcanthus did know better.
Every individual who was the focus of those images was a potential target for Syndicate kidnappers and traffickers.
Arcanthus’s rage reignited when he reached the series of images containing Samantha and himself. Based on the progression, Samantha had indeed been the groalthuun’s focus—it wasn’t until the latter images that Arcanthus’s face was visible .
“Didn’t even cover up your qal , you damned fool,” he said as he perused the stills.
Despite their source, he found himself going back through the images. Samantha looked so happy in many of them, so carefree. It was how he wanted to see her for the rest of his days. She deserved all the happiness the universe could offer.
And, because the universe didn’t seem particularly intent upon giving her happiness, Arcanthus would gladly seize it to pass along to her.
He forced himself to back out of the images after a few minutes and continued searching the device. Its geo-positioning software had been disabled, meaning it was unable to report its physical location, and its records on that regard were clean. It would’ve been too much to hope that Straek had accumulated a cache of location data that would point to the places he’d frequented.
The groalthuun’s contacts were cryptic, listed in what Arc could only assume were nicknames—none of them followed any naming conventions or patterns with which he was familiar—that had no discernable means of organization. Just to be certain, he checked several against the Consortium database; the searches yielded no results; not an easy feat in a city of billions.
The Eternal Guard’s database might’ve produced different results—the peacekeepers kept detailed records on anyone they detained, including known aliases—but it would take hours more of searching, and he wasn’t done exploring the holocom’s contents just yet.
Arcanthus paused when his eyes picked out something different on the list, backtracking a few entries to find it. While everything else was in the Universal Alphabet, one entry was listed in different characters, their shape and flow unfamiliar to him.
He copied them and ran a search on the plexus. The result came up instantly, and Arc stared at it for several seconds; his brain refused to believe what his eyes were showing him.
The characters had formed the word Boss in the native language of the groalthuun people.
He opened the entry, which contained, unsurprisingly, scant information—just the name and a commlink ID. Arcanthus knew the comm ID was a routing shield; it would contact the Boss , but it would do so through a seemingly endless chain of interconnecting IDs that would be obscured through dozens of different systems, making it almost impossible to trace.
There was nothing to gain by attempting to contact Straek’s mysterious boss.
Was there?
Arcanthus stared at the commlink ID, running his gaze slowly over each character.
Even if there were nothing to gain—and he wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case—there was also nothing to lose. Arcanthus could match the Syndicate’s ability to make his communications untraceable; they stood no more chance of locating him through the commlink than he did of locating them. And, even if he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, he wanted to ask this Boss why.
You’re being stupid again, Arc. Just keep your head down and keep digging—discreetly.
Clenching his jaw, he lifted his hand, intending to dismiss the entry and continue searching the holocom, but he stopped before making the appropriate gesture.
The comm ID probably didn’t even lead to Straek’s superior in the Syndicate—it would be too obvious, too foolish, especially after all the deliberate obfuscation in place on the groalthuun’s holocom. It was more likely to be some sort of joke, perhaps at the expense of one of Straek’s associates who thought a little too highly of themselves.
He brought up a secure commlink channel on his secondary holo screen, engaged an additional layer of reroutes—claiming Straek’s comm ID as his uppermost mask—and entered the comm ID for Boss . Without allowing himself further internal debate, he made the call. His voice-disguising software appeared onscreen as the commlink sought a connection. He quickly adjusted the settings, adding random distortions that would be difficult to filter on the other end.
The connection-in-progress tone ceased abruptly. For several seconds, there was only silence. Arc waited, lips pressed together, heart thumping.
“So, is he dead, then?” asked the person on the other end. The voice was deep, raspy, almost robotic.
Arcanthus’s heart stopped, and his breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice.
“The sedhi?” he forced himself to reply.
“We both know this conversation wouldn’t be happening if the sedhi were dead. Straek. You killed him, right?”
Arcanthus drew air into his lungs as quickly and quietly as possible.
“Just say yes , Arcanthus. Save us both the time.”
The events fell into place in Arcanthus’s mind, and he suddenly understood—Straek had been eyeing Samantha as a potential trafficking victim that day in the Ventrillian Mall. The groalthuun had reported to his superior within the Inner Reach Syndicate’s hierarchy with the images he’d captured. A few of those images contained clear views of Arcanthus’s face.
And Straek’s boss just happened to be the individual who’d betrayed Arcanthus on Caldorius a decade before.
Vaund .
“Not often you’re caught speechless, sedhi,” Vaund spat. “I seem to recall you always running your mouth when you were younger.”
A swell of anger paralyzed Arcanthus for another instant before he found his voice; he would not show weakness, not to Vaund.
“And you certainly have a talent for running yours, Vaund, especially considering I cut off half your jaw.”
“But who wound up the lesser man in the end? Who wound up whimpering on the ground in an alleyway?”
The memories—still startlingly vivid after all this time—threatened to rise to the surface of Arcanthus’s mind. He gritted his teeth and shoved them aside. “If you just wanted to reminisce, you could’ve invited me out for a few drinks. You didn’t need to send a hit squad to get my attention.”
“You’re tough, sedhi. Resilient as a sewer skrudge. But this time, I’ll make sure you don’t have anything left to drag your rotting carcass away with. Not arms or legs. Not your tail. Not even your wagging tongue.”
“My only regret after all these years is that taking off your tongue didn’t shut you up.” Flames roared in Arcanthus’s chest—flames that had burned for a decade. “I picked you up. I saved your life, I paid to have you fixed.”
“You’re the one who fucking broke me to begin with! Do you think I’d be loyal to you after that?”
“Would you have preferred death? Is that why you did it? You betrayed us all, Vaund.”
“I would have preferred victory .” The metallic buzz underlying Vaund’s voice grew more pronounced. “And I claimed it from you eventually. I beat you. Only to find out now you’re still kicking—albeit with cybernetic legs.”
“Is that why you haven’t sent word up the chain, Vaund? Because a loss like that, a stain on your reputation, would end your career? Because you didn’t actually win, despite what you’ve been telling your superiors?”
“I don’t need anything but my own bare hands to kill you, sedhi.”
Arcanthus snickered. “I suppose that’s why you sent a dozen men after me the other day. I know this phrasing is insensitive, given your condition, but you need to face it, Vaund—in a straight fight, I’m the winner. Every time. You’re going to need better than you if you want to take me out.”
Vaund released a frustrated growl. The comms fell quiet save for the low rasp of Vaund’s breathing before, frustration replaced by smugness, he asked, “How’s your terran, sedhi? Samantha ?”
Fury silenced Arcanthus, its impossible heat creating immense pressure in his chest that made it difficult to breathe.
“Hope you haven’t used her too hard,” Vaund continued. “It would be a shame if you diminished her market value. I could make a lot of credits off a female that delicate and innocent looking.”
Arcanthus’s nostrils flared with a heavy exhalation. Bracing his hands on the edge of his desk, he leaned forward. His arms trembled; he was a split second away from heaving the desk over, a split second away from smashing everything around him in helpless, hopeless rage. His instinct demanded he respond to any threat to his mate with violence, and only a diminished whisper in his mind told him that tearing apart his workshop would accomplish nothing.
“I’ll give you this one chance, Vaund. Leave Arthos. Take whatever credits you’ve made from the Inner Reach and leave.”
“You don’t seem to understand how this works, Arcanthus. Even after all these years, you’re still so na?ve.”
“I’m going to find you. And I’m going to take your metal skull between my hands and crush it.”
“Mentioning the terran struck a nerve, did it, sedhi?”
“I was content to leave you be, Vaund. To put that part of my life behind me. You started this, and I will end it. Keep talking, and I’ll change my mind about making it quick.”
“Time for you to listen, Arcanthus, for once in your life. You’re the underdog, just like you were on Caldorius. You can struggle all you want, you can fight, and it will always amount to nothing . The Syndicate would’ve crushed you even if I hadn’t turned on you. It was just a matter of time. All I did was make sure I placed my bets on the winning contender for a change.
“You’re a speck of space dust careening toward a star. There’s only one way it will end, and it’s not with you as the victor—it’s with you annihilated. I am the Syndicate, and I’m going to stomp you out of existence once and for all.”
The desk groaned softly as Arcanthus pressed down upon it. “The minutes are ticking away, Vaund, and if you don’t hurry, you’re going to wake up to your final sight—my grinning face.”
Arcanthus terminated the connection. He remained frozen in place; his hands were clamped on the edge of the desk, his teeth were clenched so tightly they felt on the verge of shattering, and every muscle in his body was painfully stiff with tension. The deluge of emotions within him was too much; for a long while, he couldn’t process them, couldn’t sort them, couldn’t even form coherent thoughts.
When he finally regained some control, his anger had risen to overshadow everything else.
Caldorius was ten years behind Arcanthus—why couldn’t that chapter of his life remain in the past? Why had it surfaced to reclaim him now, when he’d found his mate, when he’d finally found some genuine happiness? When he’d finally found deeper meaning to it all .
He raged at his helplessness—he couldn’t escape his past, couldn’t hope to stand against the Inner Reach Syndicate if Vaund chose to utilize its full strength and resources, couldn’t protect his mate from the danger looming just beyond the horizon.
Talk had always been easy; on their own, words held little power. They required actions to gain potency. What action could he take against an intergalactic criminal organization? More specifically, what action could he take that wouldn’t get everyone he knew and cared about killed?
I never intended for things to go this way, Samantha .
He’d been dealing with trouble of one sort or another for most of his life, and had always found a way to persevere, but this…this situation felt too similar to his last days on Caldorius. He didn’t need any more reminders of how well that had ended for him—his arms and legs served as reminder enough.
Memories pressed in at the edges of his consciousness—darkness; a pervasive, rotting smell; the slight sting of Caldorian rain. A ring of leering thugs, their features obscured in shadow, and the single familiar figure among them. The sound of machine-assisted breathing, the crackling hum of an energy blade, the hiss of raindrops evaporating upon it. And pain—so much pain, blazing through is body like hungry flames.
That deep, robotic voice, padded by the rainfall.
It’s just business .
Arcanthus pried his hands off the desk; it now sported a pair of deep dents, each vaguely in the shape of his fingers. He stood quickly, kicked away his chair, and strode to the opposite end of the desk, where he bent down and tugged open the small refrigeration unit.
He rarely drank—which was why at least ten bottles of gurosh —given to him by Razi—stood neatly inside the unit, all full and sealed. As he gathered the bottles in his arms, he heard Vaund’s voice in his mind again.
How’s your terran, sedhi? Samantha?
Growling, Arc kicked the refrigeration unit closed and stalked off the work platform, muscles straining to not crush the glass containers tucked against his chest.
He wouldn’t let his mind go back there. He refused to relive those experiences.
“I just have to find him first,” he muttered as he dropped all but one bottle onto the couch. He opened the remaining bottle as he sat. “Find him and fucking kill him.”