Chapter 1

1

C ovak hefted the last crate of medical supplies from the grav-sled and balanced it on his shoulders with a grunt. The hiss of the grav-sled's engines lifting it from the ground as it headed off for another load was drowned out by the general sounds of the dock and the multitude of ships around them loading and unloading. Making sure that the crate was secure on his broad shoulder, he walked the short distance across the deck to the Lady's Dream.

Dock workers had gathered in a group, leaning on crates nearby as they chattered away. Gossiping, as usual. Covak had never hit a dock yet where gossip wasn't the main currency when it came to getting shit done.

They kept their voices low, assuming the dock's activity would mean no one could hear them. He bit back his grin. On that, they would be dead wrong. They hadn't accounted for Vorrtan hearing, which was much more acute than any other species out there… and it had gotten the Reapers out of a hole more than once.

"You see that ship over there?" one of them said, shooting a glance toward the Dream . "It's one of them mercenary ships. Marge from traffic control told me… said it's either the Warborne or maybe even the Blood Core."

"Nah, you're way off," one of the others said with a shrug. "That ain't the Warborne. There ain't no females with them. My bet's on the Blood Core for sure."

"You'm both wrong." Another dock hand strolled up and leaned against a crate. Covak was beginning to feel like loading had just become a spectator sport. "That there's the Reapers. Wait until the other one comes out. E's got them freaky lines under his skin like the B'Kaar, which means them's the Reapers."

Covak chuckled as he reached the top of the ramp. Someone give that man a medal. Hearing heavy footsteps, he stepped to the side just as Anson ducked out of the hold in the power loader. His grin grew a little wider at the telltale glow of ke'lath under his teammate's skin.

Seeing someone operate the wearable power loader wasn't unusual. He could see at least five of them on the loading bay doing the same thing. But none of them moved quite the same way Anson did. The tall B'Kaar handled the power loader like it was part of him.

He had none of the clunkiness in his movements like the others—that little stop-start as the operators had to think about each movement or where to move the power loader to lift correctly and stop the thing from toppling over. Which did happen on occasion. When it did, the things looked like upturned turtles, flailing around until they could power up other loaders to haul them upright. It generally gathered a crowd laughing at the poor unfortunate who had gone over.

Covak doubted that Anson had ever fallen over in a power loader. The machine responded like it was part of him, his hands resting on the controls rather than operating them. Because of the technology that laced his body and caused the lines under his skin, Anson said he didn't register the machine as a separate entity. It was just part of him, in the same way an imperial B'Kaar's kasivar was.

Covak stayed to the side, turning to watch as Anson clunked down the ramp and headed to the ammunition crates. He turned the loading arms with a precise movement and slid them under the cases that held the massive shells and missiles used by the ship's weaponry systems. The hydraulics in the machine whirred as he lifted smoothly, turning back to head up the ramp.

Normally, ammunition for the ship, particularly for the big guns, would have been loaded using an automatic system. Using such heavy weaponry required less manual labor. And with any kind of biological loading, there was always the risk that somebody would drop something. It wasn't so much a problem of the things exploding but more of them crushing dock workers. The issue with exploding came when using an automated system. Anson did not trust any of these outer trade stations to have maintained their equipment correctly. He said he needed to make sure the process was done properly.

At the end of the day, though, Covak didn't blame him. Security was Anson's department, whether that meant safeguarding the ammunition they brought on board or ensuring they didn't get boarded by pirates. Again. The buck stopped with Anson.

He lifted an eye as he reached the top of the ramp, and Covak was still standing there.

"Are you planning on doing any work today? Or are you just going to stand there and look pretty for your admirers?" he asked, jerking his head toward the dock workers who were still watching them.

"You wish you looked this good doing this," he threw back at Anson and turned, heading into the loading bay on the Dream . They were almost three-quarters full now, and he was nearly done with the medical supplies. There were just three or four large crates left to bring in.

"What? A sweaty mess?" Anson threw back as he walked past him again. " Pur lease! I'm just glad this place has air recyclers. The last thing I want to smell is your freaky Vorrtan pheromones all day."

Covak grinned as he hefted the huge crates from the medical grav-sled onto his shoulder and carried them into the cargo bay as though they weighed nothing. Sweat ran down his spine, and he'd long since stripped to the waist, his vest tucked into the back of his waistband. He wasn't complaining, though; it was a good workout.

Stacking the last crate into place at the back of the Dream's bay, he arched an eyebrow at Anson. "Yeah, we don't all need fancy machines to get the job done, you know."

Anson shook his head as he clunked by. Without missing a step, he swiveled the big machine's cockpit around and flipped Covak off with the loader forks. Covak flicked him the bird absently as he stood in front of the loaded medical supplies.

He pursed his lips, tapping them with a clawed hand as he went over everything he'd ordered in his head. He'd tried to account for every eventuality, but this mission was different. They were tasked with rescuing a human woman, or a near-human woman, and apart from Tell, he'd never treated a human before.

His mind wandered back to the images they'd been sent. Jane, the female they were going to rescue, was stunning. The most beautiful female he'd ever laid eyes on in all his travels across the galaxy. His brows snapped together in a frown.

Would it be enough? Did humans have any odd medical needs that he didn't know about? He would have to scan Davis Tell again. He'd treated him before, but that was when he didn't actually know he was human. He'd just assumed Tell was some kind of scrawny, runt Lathar.

Of course, he'd given some trall about always knowing because Tell smelled different. Tell did smell different, but so did every other Lathar out there. There had always been something different about Tell… it was right there in his damn eyes. But they'd all bought the story he'd told about a birth defect without question. Not surprising. Given the amount of genetic manipulation the Lathar did to themselves, there were always… accidents. It wasn't really polite to ask. But as the team's medic, he had to ask the question now, especially if they were bringing a female on board—a female who could quite well be injured.

That was a task for later, though. He'd done all he could for now. With a sense of satisfaction, he spread securing nets over his supplies and tethered them into place. Now, no matter what loops Ryke decided to put the ship through, his delicate medical stocks wouldn't end up smashed to bits like eggs in a shaken box.

Ducking out of the cargo bay, he headed over to where Anson was finishing up with the power loader. Aware of his audience of awed dockworkers but ignoring them, Anson grinned as he loaded up the last of the ammunition, lifting it high above his head and twirling it into a complex dance. The mechanical limbs of the power loader moved as if they were an extension of his body.

"Show-off." Covak leaned against a support strut and called out, "What's next? How about a little jig for us, show off your expert control there."

Anson laughed, the deep, resonant sound echoing across the deck between them. "Flattery? What's next? A compliment on my hair?"

"Don't push it." Covak snorted and flicked his own long hair back over his shoulders. "Mine is far superior anyway."

"Now who's showing off?" Anson grinned at him as he walked up the ramp to load the last of the ammunition and then walked the power loader over to its charging cradle.

As soon as he stepped out of it, any animation the machine had had disappeared, and it became just a generic piece of loading equipment again. The B'Kaar walked back over the deck toward Covak, shoving a hand through his black hair. The lines under his skin had disappeared now that they were no longer required to control the power loader.

As he walked, it appeared he was just another arrogant mercenary with that cocky swagger, his attention on nothing more than their ship and his teammate. Covak knew differently. That was what made Anson so dangerous and every inch the Reaper he was.

Like Covak, he was aware of every being around him, every dockhand, every machine. Unlike Covak, who couldn't do the freaking machine uplink thing, he could probably tell how much juice every power loader around them had and whether the dockhands were armed with as much as a mini spanner, as he had been every second of the time they'd been loading. They both had. It wouldn't be the first time somebody had tried to sneak aboard the Lady's Dream as a stowaway.

Covak didn't have to ask him if there were any issues. If there had been, he and everyone still on the ship would have instantly known about it. With his ke'lath Anson could talk to anybody inside just as easily as he was talking to Covak right now.

"I think that's all of it," he said and then arched an eyebrow. "You ready to grab a beer before we head out into human space?"

"Abso- fucking -lutely," Covak replied. "Especially since it'll be the last decent one we'll get for a while."

Covak leaned back in his chair, the metal legs squeaking a little in protest, and surveyed the bar around him. It was a familiar scene. The bar changed every time, but the Reapers usually found somewhere that served food and alcohol in large quantities, which was where they did their best thinking off the battlefield.

Tonight, they had claimed a large round table at the back of the bar, tucked away in the corner. His gaze washed over the scratched metal surface that bore the scars of many a brawl. Just his kind of place.

He took a deep appreciative breath, his large chest inflating. The air was thick with the scent of strong alcohol and grilled meat, with a faint hint of decay from the ancient ventilation system clanging above his head as it struggled to keep up. Something, possibly several somethings, had definitely died up there.

Spreading his arms over the backs of the chairs on either side of him, he looked around. As usual, the other customers in the bar gave the Reapers a wide berth, shooting nervous glances in their direction when they thought the mercenary group wasn't looking. Besides that, they kept their distance. It was wise; no one wanted to mess with a bunch of mercenaries, especially not those with the bloodthirsty reputation of the Reapers.

He bit back his smile at the mix of fear and respect in their eyes. That reputation had been bought and paid for in blood, and it always preceded them. On outposts like this, in the ass-end of the known universe, it paid dividends to be known as a group not to be fucked with. This area was thick with pirates and those who would sell their own mothers for credits. Being a victim out here? Not a long-term survival prospect.

The bar was filled with the sound of clinking glasses, murmured and sometimes not-so-murmured conversation, and the occasional burst of either raucous laughter or a bar fight. Yet the area around their table remained quiet and serene, as though a force field surrounded them. Silence reigned as the Reapers communed with their first quiet beer of the evening. It was likely to be followed by several rather louder ones very shortly.

Seated around the table were the rest of his team. Ryke sat with his back against the wall, as always, his ice-blue eyes constantly scanning the bar for signs of danger. Anson didn't bother; sitting with his back to the room. But every so often, his ke'lath flared as he used the security cameras in the bar to check what was going on around them.

Technically, it was illegal for him to hack systems like that. But even if the owners and staff in many of the facilities they'd visited knew what he was doing, no one had ever challenged Anson on it.

Opposite Covak was Tell, sitting with one hand wrapped around his beer, eyeing it as though it held the meaning to life itself. Covak watched him for a while. He really did look just like any other Lathar, apart from those strange, round-pupiled eyes. But he was a damn good engineer and an even better fighter.

Covak's brows snapped together. So many of the Lathar seemed to think that humans were small and weak, but that didn't match what he'd seen. The two human males he'd met were definitely more dangerous than many Lathar. Not as dangerous as a Vorr or a Vorrtan, but no one was perfect. Apart from him, of course.

Sitting next to Ryke, reading through something on a datapad, was Rann, the big, heavy-worlder who was their second in command. He was the one Covak knew the least about… an air of mystery surrounding him that none of them had quite worked out yet. Apparently, only Ryke knew his history, and he wasn't talking.

The chair beneath him creaked as Covak shifted his weight. He blew out a sigh, finally satisfied after devouring four huge steaks, his belly warm and full. It was rare to find such good food this far out from the center of civilization. Picking up his glass, he slid his fingers against the droplets of condensation that had formed on the outside and lifted it to take a long swallow. The crisp, bitter taste hit his taste buds and slid down his throat like iced silk. Perfect. He drained the glass, set it down with a thud on the table, and then looked around.

"Not bad for something this far out," he commented. "Food's good, drink's good, not seen a fight yet, but we can work on that."

Anson chuckled, his dark features alight with amusement. "Four steaks? I have no idea how you even fit them in that stomach of yours without puking."

Laughter filled the air around the table, and Covak grinned, flashing his fangs. "Still a growing boy, me. Takes a lot to fuel this body. You should try eating more sometimes, might put some muscle on those puny little arms of yours."

"Anson's all about quality over quantity." Ryke leaned forward, grinning. "He's not a food waste disposal unit like you."

Anson rolled his eyes. "Well, yes, I would have had more than one steak, but Covak had already ordered the kitchen out."

He grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah, well, just get your order in quicker next time."

Ryke set his drink down on the table. It was a specific movement, one they were all attuned to. He leaned forward, no amusement in his eyes now; instead, his expression held a seriousness that demanded their attention. Reaching into his thigh pocket, he pulled out a small dataflex and laid it on the table.

"Okay," his voice cut through the quiet as he leaned forward and pressed a button on the display. Something pushed against Covak's ear drums as a sound suppression field activated. "We've got some new information from the Warborne regarding our target."

He leaned forward in interest, bracing his muscled forearms on the table. The hum of the bar receded into the background as he focused.

"So this is what we know. Our target's name is Jane," Ryke continued, tapping the tablet again. An image flared to life above the tablet in the center of the table, a holographic display that projected a rotating image of the woman Covak had seen before. "Now, that's obviously not her real name. That's just the name the humans have given her. We don't know her real name or where she came from, but the Warborne have sent us everything they could gather on her."

Ryke tapped away again, and more information joined the holographic image of Jane. His eyes flickered over the information as his mind cataloged every detail.

"She's not an ordinary target," Ryke continued. "She's got some kind of weird DNA; it looks human, but it isn't. Whatever she is, someone went to great lengths to keep her secret, even from the human authorities. Apparently, none of the human government organizations know anything about her. She's been moved from place to place, never staying long in one facility."

He sat back, taking in the information. "So she's human but not. Why do they want her?"

Ryke raised an eyebrow. "That is a very good point. As far as we can work out from the accounts of the two scientists who were involved in projects around her, she has a specific genetic makeup that is very similar, apparently, to Zero from the Warborne."

Anson blinked. "Well, why don't we just ask him about her then?"

Ryke inclined his head. "That would be the simple answer. Wouldn't it? Apart from the fact that Zero has absolutely no memory of anything prior to being rescued by the Warborne years ago. He cannot remember where he came from or where he got the cybernetic implants that run through his body."

Covak blinked. "Well, that's a pain in the ass."

"Definitely," Ryke said, grinning with a flash of straight white teeth. "But when were things ever easy? Things would be boring that way. Wouldn't they?"

A rumble of chuckles came from around the table, and then the holo-projection changed to show the schematics of a heavily fortified compound. Covak folded his arms. Despite the fact it was obviously human, he recognized the type immediately. It was one of those places where getting in was only half the battle.

"So we've just had confirmation that they're keeping her in this facility," Ryke said. "It's high security with multiple guard shifts and what looks like advanced—well, advanced for humans, anyway—tech defenses."

As one, the Reapers turned to look at Tell. Being human, he knew more about these things than any of them. His expression didn't alter as he looked over the schematics and then reached out a hand to turn it around and examine it from all angles. Then he nodded.

"Yeah, looks like an Anselm safehouse facility."

The words meant nothing to Covak. "Anselm? What the draanth is that?"

Tell shrugged. "There are layers within layers of human society, specifically in the darker spheres, shall we say? The organization I worked for has a standing mandate to track down Anselm's off-the-records facilities and find out what they're hiding."

Ryke pierced him with a direct look. "So you know the layout of this kind of facility."

Tell nodded. "One thing about Anselm is that they think they're clever. And they are. They've hidden in plain sight for fucking years. But once you put the clues together and have seen past the illusion once, they're pretty easy to work out. This design is used for assets they need to control. They create a false reality, that this is a real town with real people, when in reality, everyone apart from the asset is an Anselm operative."

Reaching up, he indicated areas on the schematic. "So… the weak point is here. But they've been using this design for years, so they know about the weak point, and it's heavily guarded. Which means our best way in is actually over here."

He pointed to a section of the wall that looked unassailable.

Covak looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Are you freaking crazy? That's at least twenty feet thick!"

Tell inclined his head.

"It's heavily fortified, yes, but if you look at these columns, the service elevators run down here, hidden between these two points." He looked at Rann, the team's heavy gunner. "If Covak hits hard and fast there with the big gun, we can break through and get into the service shafts. From there, we should emerge in one of these two buildings here. Then we can make our assault into the main house, which is usually here. That's where they'll be holding her."

Covak nodded. He was grateful for the intel. A rescue mission like this required precision and brute strength in equal measure. His claws flexed and he grinned viciously. These Anslem humans wouldn't know what hit them.

"So, backstory. Jane was supposedly involved in some kind of accident that altered her DNA—radiation, sickness, changes to the genetics, some draanth like that," Ryke explained. "But we know that's a cover story."

"What else do we know about her?" Anson demanded.

Ryke sat back, obviously expecting the question. "The human scientists with the Warborne say she has a substrand of genetic DNA, but they can't figure out what that's for yet. One of them thinks it's some kind of genetic storage, which means she could be a repository of information—but for what or whom, we don't know. One of the scientists notes that there were regular deliveries from the facility she was held in to another facility that specializes in advanced weaponry, but we have no idea what those deliveries might have been."

Covak grunted. "They couldn't get any more information than that?"

"No." Ryke shook his head. "The scientists who were part of the programs were at different facilities. When they started asking too many questions?—"

Covak dropped his head back. "They made themselves a target. What happened?"

"Exactly what you'd expect," Ryke said, his eyes hardening. "Their employers decided to tie up some loose ends to keep everything under wraps. Fortunately for them, the Warborne managed to rescue them, and they've been working with us ever since."

"And we've nothing else?"

Ryke shrugged. "Just one thing… As far as we can work out, Jane could be genetically related to Zero."

Trall. "So she could be like him? A cyborg?"

Ryke nodded, his expression grim.

"One with amnesia. So depending on the trall they're feeding her, we could be facing a well-trained, lethal, and very hostile target."