Chapter 2

2

- Arelion -

"I am my own," the female in the net protests, a defiant fire in her dark eyes. Her little fists tighten as if she wants to fight me.

"Opinions seem to differ," I point out as I turn the net around to study her properly. Her scent is fresh and almost overwhelmingly female, with a tinge of fear mixed in. There's a note of something else, too. Something that makes my crotch swell pleasantly.

She's dressed in the blandest, most drab clothing I've ever seen, all gray and loose, to the degree that she's able to pass unnoticed through a crowd. That tells me she's not here by coincidence. I would love to see more of her shape.

"They don't," she says in her bright voice. "Nobody owns me, and nobody ever will."

There's a small opening in the net, and I rip it all the way open as I place her on the ground. "It's a curious place for an Earth female to claim to be unowned. Many slave traders come here. And other traders may be tempted to dabble in slaving when you make it easy for them. Like those silly Krunku." I kick the Krunku still on the ground, waking him up from unconsciousness.

The female fights her way out of the net and gets to her feet, straightening her clothing, face red. "Thanks for helping me. But it doesn't mean you own me." She has an interesting accent, lilting and melodic.

"I'm inclined to agree," I tell her as I watch the Krunku get to his flat feet and scurry unsteadily away. "But you should get back home. Now. "

"I will leave," the female says and twirls a long metal stick, shrinking it to a tiny cylinder. "Just so you know, I would have chased them away if it hadn't been for that damn net."

"And I could breathe in space, if it hadn't been for that damn lack of air," I counter. "Is that yours?" I point at a pink little creature that's sitting at the female's feet and gazing adoringly up at her.

"I think the same applies to it," she says. "Nobody owns it."

"I agree," the furry thing yips with a thin voice that sounds female. "Nobody owns me."

The female stares down at the thing. "Did you just speak? !"

"Pretty sure I did," the creature confirms. "Did you hear it? Or did you just see my mouth move? You see, sometimes?—"

I sigh. "A rogue robot. There's nothing more tedious."

"I'm not rogue ," the furry robot protests. "I'm just a free spirit. And my name is Bari."

"Hi, Bari," the female says. "I'm Maeve."

"Yeah, thanks for helping back there, Maeve," the robot says. "Girls should help each other out. But it wasn't necessary. I was about to beat them all up something fierce."

"Didn't look like it," Maeve says.

I find my reflection again. I'm back to my usual blue color scheme, just on the fun side of outrageous.

"Enjoy your new friendship," I drawl as I stroke the tall, golden comb that graces the top of my head. "And Maeve, make sure you leave as soon as possible. This place is really dangerous. I would recommend a better place for you to conduct whatever little business it is you think you have, but there really aren't any." I walk towards the station markets.

"Hey!" comes a thin call behind me.

"What?" I demand without turning around.

"What's your name?"

"Arelion!" I yell, enjoying the magnificent sound of my own name as it echoes from the walls. "And you're welcome. Once is my limit, though! I will never save your life again!"

" Wutan ashol," comes an alien mutter behind me. Doubtless they are words of admiration that Maeve can only properly express in her own tongue.

I saunter into the market area. Immediately the chatter dies down and all eyes seek me out. It's gratifying, but not as much as it would be if these people were other than riffraff and the usual scum that populates these stations on the fringe of civilization.

A squat cylinder rolls towards me, looking for all the world like a trash can. "How did it go?"

"Fine, fine," I say airily. "They weren't much of a challenge. Just Krunku traders thinking they would become slave traders."

"I hope I turned the lights off at the right time," the trash can says, rolling into step beside me. "You looked like you were using some kind of fury attack."

"Fake fury," I correct him. "None of them would have survived my real fury. Yes, Cerak, the darkness helped. I must have looked like an avenging angel. I helped one of them with a little punch to his chin, and then they all ran. Such a timid species."

"We're a great team," Cerak tells me. "You do the fighting, and I do the… well, you know."

"The menial tasks, like a robot should," I state calmly. "Those are important, too. Now, any trace of our quarry?"

The crowd has recovered from my sudden appearance and returned to their various tasks. Most things can be bought and sold here, including sentient beings. I'm not in that business, and I despise it.

"He may have been here," Cerak says in my native Eoan language, making sure no one who overhears us will understand. "I showed his holo to that green trader there, and while he denied it, I think he just wasn't accessing the right memory bank."

I give the trader a casual glance. "That's not a robot, Cerak. He doesn't have memory banks. But he may have subconsciously recognized the party we seek. Let's make further inquiries and see if we can't confirm it from someone else, too."

Two alien females make sure to pass close by me, looking over their scaly shoulders and sending me longing gazes, wagging their bushy tails in invitation.

I shudder and pick out a suitable subject for interrogation. "That trader over there looks like she's been here for a long time," I observe. "Let's go and pretend to be interested in her useless wares."

- - -

I t takes an intolerably long time and many conversations with traders to establish that our target has indeed been here on the station. Before long I've had enough of the station and its disgusting smells, and we return to my ship.

"Did we not lock the hatch"? I ask as we approach and I spot the white light on the side of the hull.

"I usually don't forget," Cerak says defensively as he rolls up to the ship. "But I'm not friends with the shipboard computer. She may have decided to unlock it just to make me look bad."

"Are there any computers you're not enemies with?" I ask as I enter the ship and draw in its clean air. There's a trace of Maeve's scent, too. That doesn't displease me in the least. She was quite a fetching female. And if I have carried her scent with me, then that's well and good. I would not have expected it to be this noticeable, but she's the only truly attractive female I've seen for many days, and my nose is sensitive to her smell amidst the stench of the station.

I will never see her again, and that sends a strange, nasty barb to my mind. There was some fire in her, the kind of fire that could make a life interesting.

"Most of them," Cerak tells me. "I'm actually quite friendly with the vast majority of computers and AIs."

"Because you haven't had any contact with them?" I suggest as I take my place in the pilot's seat.

"Well… yes," the robot admits. "The ones I've met all get on my nerves."

I begin the warm engine-start procedure. "You don't have nerves, Cerak. But I understand what you mean. All right. We know that Archmagus Yomeran has been here, and that he probably went on to Maranar Labs. We're getting closer to the end of our quest."

Cerak finds the round pit that's his seat. There's a hiss as he sucks himself firmly into it. "And closer to you getting back in your rightful place. Finally."

"Finally," I agree as the turbofans spin up with a distant whine. "The end is in sight."

"Why did you end up fighting them in the first place? Krunku aren't usually that aggressive."

I wiggle my wings, trying to get comfortable in the small seat. "There was a female alien. She claimed that they were abducting her. An Earth female." Again her scent teases my nose, as if she were nearby.

"An Earth female? They are very sought after, I hear."

"They are sought after and expensive to buy and likely expensive to keep," I agree. "And they have a reputation for being sneaky and untrustworthy."

"I've heard that, too. Apparently they will try to escape from slavery, and then do their best to mess things up for their owners or just plain kill themselves in the most destructive way possible. Those who come across them are often exasperated, it is said."

I writhe against the backrest. "So we should do our best to avoid those females. Remind me to get a new seat at the next station. This one is making me exasperated."

"I keep reminding you, Arelion. But nobody makes seats that allow for those ridiculous things you carry on your back."

"The wings," I grunt as I take the ship into a hover. "You know what they are. Perhaps it would be possible to fly this ship while standing up."

"And perhaps you can install a mirror instead of instruments so you can admire yourself while flying!" Cerak suggests, his metallic voice dripping with sarcasm.

"That would be better than looking at you ," I growl.

The ship rises on its repulsors, wobbling as the computer tries to compensate for some new imbalance.

"Are we heavier than before?" Cerak asks. "I thought the ship had learned to account for the weight of your immense self esteem. Did it really increase this much from beating those Krunku?"

"Everyone should have a healthy self image," I tell him absentmindedly as I maneuver the ship out of the hangar and into space. "It's not my fault that you don't have it, trash can."

"Do you think you insult me by calling me that? I am a Recycling And Refuse Receptacle, and proudly so. I just turned out a little smarter than my designers expected."

"Never install an AI chip in a simple appliance," I agree. "You'd think they'd learned that by now. How old are you again?"

"I'm six years old. Brand new, essentially. Arelion, I want to direct your attention away from yourself — sorry, I know it's hard for you — and over on that screen. Does anything stand out?"

I look at the sensor screen that shows our surroundings as seen from a distance, with every ship and object labeled. Our own ship is marked in blue, and other ships in various tones of green to denote their probability of being hostile. One ship is outlined in a bright, toxic green. "Hmm. What is that? The Star Marshals?"

"Doesn't look like it," Cerak tells me. "The design is more like something from the Brapt sector."

I zoom in on the image. "The Krunku?"

"I didn't want to say it, but that's what it looks like."

The ship appears to be coming closer, so I hit the power lever. "They're not looking for a fight, surely?"

"Do we want to hang around and find out?"

I think about it. It's been a while since I've taken part in a space battle, and I might be getting rusty. Getting some practice would be smart. Taking on a mostly civilian ship with this carefully disguised warship would probably be an easy victory, but there are always risks with these things. "We're supposed to be discreet and invisible," I ponder out loud. "We don't want anyone from Eo to know we're here."

"Then we should speed up," Cerak says. "Space battles tend to get attention. We'll easily outrun them and get into hyperspace."

I push the power lever to the stop, and the ship shoots forwards. "Sounds like a plan."

Cerak turns his upper third. "Something is loose back in the lounge. I heard something being thrown against the bulkhead."

"It's not the tidiest of ships," I admit. "I thought keeping things clean and tidy was your thing?"

"Maybe. It's not like I'm your housekeeper."

The distance to the green ship increases quickly. I get the computer to set up the hyperspace journey to the Maranar system. "Never said you were. All right, we're out of their range. For their sake I hope they won't follow us. Then we might have to kill them."

"There's nothing to gain," Cerak points out. "It would take them out of their way for no particular profit."

The computer beeps and shows the Ready icon. I push the button, and the ship jumps to hyperspace.

"I hope they think as rationally as you do. Anyway, we're closing in on the Archmagus. I should think of something to say when we find him."

"You don't think simply being your charming self would do it?"

"Your sarcasm will be the end of you, Cerak. Never mind. I'll think of something myself."

Outside, hyperspace is making its usual confusing patterns of light and darkness, making the brain doubt itself.

I lean back in the seat as well as I can, making it creak dangerously.

That female… there was something about her. A defiance that wasn't just for show. It went deeper than that. She was scared, but not petrified even when confronted by big Krunku. There was the spark of a warrior in her.

Why was she there in the first place? On a space station that's famous for being a nest of lowlifes and thugs? She had tried to hide her face, but the glimpses I got were… agreeable. She was out of place, far too delicate and somehow pure for that place.

"Perhaps that's how the Earthlings do it," I mutter to myself. "They make you think they're harmless, and then they betray you."

Cerak turns his top towards me. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Keep flying."

My crotch swells at the memory of the shapes under her flowing garments. I could see no Mark on her, or a sign of one— damned void , am I still thinking about her?

I grunt in annoyance and quickly get to my feet. "I suppose we have to clean up whatever's tumbling around back in the lounge."

"‘We' meaning me, perhaps?" Cerak sighs, a strange thing for a trash can to do. "Or are you using the royal ‘we'?"

I stretch, making joints crack. "Do I usually treat you like a servant, Cerak, ordering you around?"

"You really don't. I sometimes wonder about it. I mean, you must have grown up in some really fancy circumstances. And yet you never behave like the spoiled brat you almost certainly must be."

"Well, you never behave like the trash can you claim to be." I make my way back to the lounge. The light comes on when I enter. It's a small, comfortable space with a low couch and a table. In a warship like this, everything is fit for purpose, and nothing is superfluous.

And I spot nothing that's loose. But the scent of that female keeps teasing my nose, stronger now.

"Have to check the cargo hold," I mutter to myself. But there shouldn't be much in there.

I step over to the gravity discontinuity at the back of the lounge and walk up the wall, opening the hatch in the ceiling as if it were a door. The cargo hold is dark, but the smell of the female is even stronger here— "Void!"

Something moves in the darkness, and I barely have time for an intense curse before I'm being slapped around the ears and something hard is poking into my stomach.

"This gun is loaded," a thin voice says.