Chapter 1
ONE
Niir Gosk fastened gloves over his battle-scarred hands.
He checked the power level in his plasma blasters in the methodical manner he’d done hundreds of times, for hundreds of missions.
“I don’t like it.” He had been part of Trak Letu’s senior crew long enough to share his thoughts freely. “Something’s off.”
The prince gave him a bland look and fastened his own gloves over his less scarred hands. “Of course, something’s off.” He nodded to the ten heavily armed guards sitting behind them. “If this were a reputable rescue mission, reputable rescuers would have been employed.”
“We’re ‘reputable,’” said Niir, shifting his shoulders under the reinforced armor of his sleek black suit. “This planetary system is not.”
“True. Every mission we’ve ever conducted in the Yerkin system has been a disaster. Doesn’t mean this one will be.” Trak shook blond hair out of his eyes. “It doesn’t get any more straightforward than this. Rescue fourteen abducted Sislus females and return them to their settlement. Simple.”
“There is nothing simple about our employer.” Niir gritted his teeth as the transport landed bumpily onto the gray, rocky surface of the barren, uninhabited and unnamed moon. Facts were facts—nothing ever went right in the Yerkin system.
Trak sighed. “We were paid half in advance.”
Niir grunted. It was his job to know things.
His official title was Chief Communications Officer, but his true value lay in his vast network of connections.
None of the intel he’d collected indicated any deceit from Warlord Mek-la, who hired them to rescue his abducted females.
Still, his instincts did not like this place, or the job.
“You don’t need life support here,” said a smooth, female voice inside their helmets. “But you do need climate control. This moon is hot.”
“How hot?” asked Trak.
“Hot enough to damage your lungs, but according to our readings, the surface air is sufficiently oxygenated and nontoxic. The only living beings in the facility are grouped together in a small chamber near the rear of the dome,” said Anna, Trak’s partner, and the newest member of their senior crew.
Under different circumstances, the addition of their leader’s mate to their senior ranks would have been a nightmare, but Anna was a true asset.
She and Pizol, the first officer, stayed on the ship to monitor for an ambush or incoming enemies, both of which were likely.
The battleship remained in orbit. They rode a smaller transport shuttle down to the surface for what would hopefully be a quick extraction.
“How many guards are inside?” Trak asked.
“Unknown.” Pizol took over for this, as military operations were more his specialty. “Guards may not be organic life-forms. They may be mechanical. Or defense systems may be fully automated or controlled remotely. Our sensors show fourteen living individuals. Humanoid.”
Trak glanced at Niir. “The exact number we’re supposed to collect.”
“However,” Pizol went on, “indicators show the dome you’re about to enter is hot. Blaster fire was recently exchanged, although it’s quiet now. Be on high alert.”
Niir sent Trak a dark look. “This is not ideal.”
“Never is, mate.” Trak’s brow lowered to a scowl. “Plan’s the same. We get in. We get out.”
The ramp lowered, and they filed off the transport, weapons drawn, senses sharp.
The nearest sun wasn’t close, but the nearby planet was a glowing gas giant.
It illuminated the flat, rocky ground in an orange glow.
Nothing grew here, but it would be a good candidate for a terraforming project.
Too bad this moon sat in the middle of the Yerkin system—one of the most dangerous planetary systems in the quadrant.
This was a route for drugs, trafficking, and all imaginable illegal goings-on.
“Look.” Niir pointed to blaster marks and divots that marked the way to a windowless, oblong dome.
It was the same color and texture as the ground.
The effect was perfect camouflage, unless you knew where to look.
“The entrance has been forced open,” Niir said, shouldering open the thick, metal door.
He entered with weapons drawn into a wide chamber.
He hissed through his teeth at the sight before them.
“Well, Pizol did say this place was hot,” said Trak, as he and their accompanying guards slipped inside. “Our timing is impeccable.”
The floor was strewn with bodies from a number of species—all common to the quadrant.
“Raiders,” said Niir, recognizing the mismatched armor and battered weapons as the type belonging to one of the many bands of nomadic raiders who roamed this system.
The guards who had been protecting this facility were outfitted in smart gray uniforms. All their instruments and weapons were missing, or rather, stolen.
“They sustained heavy casualties, but they took this facility. Hard to believe.” He nodded ahead.
“The females are still on the other side of the dome.”
“So sure they’re the females?” asked Trak. “I thought a pessimist like you would assume it’s an ambush.”
“I’m not a pessimist,” Niir replied. “I’m a pragmatist. There’s a difference.”
The Virilians trained their weapons forward as they methodically moved through the dome, checking every bit of space.
Their guards scanned metal packing crates that were stacked high against walls.
The few communication screens that hadn’t been stolen were smashed in the fight, but the quality of them revealed evidence of a decently run operation.
Niir knew places like this. He’d grown up in them, served in them, nearly died in them. A knot hardened in his belly as he mentally ticked off the possible uses for this facility. None of them were good for the females being held here. He feared for what they’d endured in this dome.
They went deeper into the facility. As the one with the most military experience, Niir entered first into a huge chamber. It comprised the bulk of the dome with a high, arching ceiling and massive fans turning the air. Here, countless large, shallow tanks were filled with a thick, yellow serum.
Niir frowned as realization hit him, along with a pungent, sickly sweet odor. His head swam as he set the air filter of his suit to maximum. “Shields and oxygen filters to max,” he said to the guards and Trak, who were just entering the room. “Do not breathe this air.”
The Virilians engaged their filters without hesitation. They had caught a whiff of the same thing Niir had. All recognized the sight before them.
Trak pointed to smashed flowers that lay strewn on the ground. “Terti flowers. This was a large-scale drug production. The raiders cleaned them out.”
“Now we know why this place was hit. Stars, this was a lot of flowers.” Niir bent down and picked up a crushed white bloom in his gloved fingers.
They offered powerful mind-altering qualities when ingested and were highly addictive.
His skin crawled with a creeping desperation to leave this place.
“They stole everything. There is about to be a lot of this on the open market.”
“Not our problem,” Trak ground out. “The terti flower has been trafficked in this system for more cycles than I can count. We’ll steer clear of nearby space stations for a while, until it clears out of the trade cycles.”
Niir nodded agreement, then looked to a set of metal-door chambers in the back. “The females should be through here.”
After overriding a lock, several guards pulled open the doors to reveal a stark, darkened chamber.
Niir’s senses recoiled at the smell of too many beings sharing too small a space with inadequate facilities.
Makeshift bedding lay against one wall, an open latrine sat against the opposite.
There was little else inside except for a huddled mass of females, pressed against the rear wall as tightly as they were able.
He took in the scene, pushing down the rage at the sight before him.
“These are not Sislus females,” said Trak. “They look human. Stars, do you think they are?”
The females were terribly thin, filthy. Their clothing was falling off them.
It couldn’t be denied that the females looked human…
at first. Niir had seen a lot of aliens and could spot subtle differences.
Their movements. Their hair colors weren’t natural human shades.
Their skin held an unusual shine that human flesh could not achieve without cosmetics.
“They’re not human,” said Niir. “At least, not fully.”
“Then what are they?” asked Trak. “And how are they breathing this air without succumbing to the terti flower’s effects?”
Niir’s gaze fell to their rough, yellow-stained hands. “They could be immune to the drug. It would make them very effective workers.”
Trak let out a string of Virilian curses that Niir wholeheartedly agreed with.
Niir called out a simple greeting to the females in Sislu—their supposed natural tongue—but the females showed no comprehension. They stared at him in confusion, whispering amongst themselves in a language he didn’t recognize.
His gaze caught on one female whose striking hair set her apart.
It was long and straight, held back by a strip of cloth, and was a bright, jewel shade of blue.
She stood in front with her arms around two slightly younger females.
Her gaze scanned the Virilian party. He could see her taking note of the weapons, the number of guards, the size and strength of them.
Unlike the others, this one’s expression was alert and calculating.
Her expression held a resilience that Niir admired.
He knew instantly that this female would either turn out to be a deadly threat or an asset.