Crystal

"Thief!"

The words ring out behind me as I duck my way past the various stinking and spicy stalls hawking their wares in the huge market dome. The orange lumbering alien merchant bringing up the rear won't be able to catch me—he never does. Which means I have time to slide into a conduit and take a bite of the fruit I've purloined.

Fruit is a rare commodity on Station X42, especially fresh fruit, and my mark is the only trader who ever has any. Why he doesn't keep it under lock and key, I'll never understand.

I pull up the hood on my nondescript cloak and turn my head into the conduit as the mostly useless station guard patrol passes by.

The fruit, whatever it is, tastes like strawberries and heaven. As the sticky juice runs down my arm, I'm transported back to a time when I had picnics in fragrant, just-mown fields and dessert was Eton Mess, a heavenly concoction of meringue, cream and strawberries. However, a whimper draws me back to the present, grimy space station with its myriad of atmosphere leaks and far too many bodies of all different kinds pressed into the tin can.

There are three sets of too many eyes blinking at me.

"Mistress?" one of the young Jiaka says, voice breaking.

They're hungry. They're always hungry. Jiaka are at the bottom of the food chain, here on Station X42 and presumably everywhere else. They're known thieves, and they can't get away with anything in this confined space. Instead they have to scrape a living doing the worst jobs for the worst credits. And their children starve.

"Here." I toss the fruit at the oldest. "Make sure you share." I lick my fingers to taste the last of my ill-gotten gains, and having checked the coast is clear, I emerge from my hiding place.

I've been on Station X42 for…I don't really know. Time is different here. Measured in nova-hours, days, weeks, months. It means nothing to me. If I had to take a guess, it's been six months, but it could have been a year.

I love it.

Because he isn't here.

When aliens abducted me from the side of the road in the pouring rain, how little they knew they were doing me a favor, pulling me away from the wrath which was about to befall me. Or that the second I got a chance, I'd run from them, ending up on a ship which eventually dumped me, a pathetic stowaway, on Station X42.

Here, I made my own luck. Here I used my skills to the best advantage, which was generally not dying. But also, here I'm stuck on a slowly disintegrating space hulk.

"Chrissy!"

I turn at the hissed sound of my name. "Nayl?" I peer around the side of a stall where I see the naga alien, his slim form covered up with layers and layers of fabric (naga aliens are always cold).

"I've got a job for you," he says with a snake smile.

"Thank god!" I throw my head back, my hood coming free and my auburn curls tumbling out.

Another thing my stepfather hated about me.

"What's the pay?" I ask as I fall into step with Nayl (or slither in his case).

"Straight to the point as usual," he says with a reptilian smile. "If you can do it, there's a thousand credits in it."

I stop dead. Nayl looks shifty. He doesn't like to be caught out in the open, like any reptile. His species, the Oykig, prefer dark spaces.

"A thousand credits?!"

"Shhh!" he hisses again.

"What sort of job is worth that much?" I'm already running the calculations in my head.

If I add a thousand credits to the small amount I already have put away, I might be able to buy passage off this vile space station, get to a planet, breathe fresh air, and eat fresh food.

Start to live again.

Nayl tugs at my arm. "A good job. Completely above board, I promise. The client has credits to flash about, that's all."

"You do know if you're lying, I will do you an injury, right?" I allow Nayl to tow me along, but I push back my cloak and make sure he sees the dagger at my hip.

Yeah, yeah. I'm in space, there are aliens, and there are ray guns. I've never liked guns, and given how moving parts can jam up, I prefer the blade. I also have a reputation for using it.

It's a reputation I've very carefully cultivated, given I've never had to wield it in anger.

Nayl squeaks. Something he always does when he's nervous.

And he's not nervous of me. He knows I'd never hurt him, not when he helped me out on my arrival. Even let me stay with him and his family, his sweet wife, Hayla, welcoming me into her home, making sure I was fed and clothed.

It's his client he's nervous of, and while his self-preservation instincts showing should make me wary, in fact, I'm intrigued.

Station X42 is filled with wannabe crime lords, but very few bother Nayl. Or me, although that might be because I know all the hiding places.

"Steady, Nayl. You know I'll not do anything to you."

"Then you'll take the job?"

I sigh. What have I really got to lose, other than the ability to breathe?

"Providing I can do it, I'll take the job." I shove him in front of me as we reach the door to his workshop, as it's coded to his DNA, and he keeps changing the permissions for me, which is annoying as it means I have to spend several seconds bypassing them. Which means less seconds I have to wind him up.

Inside it is significantly more pleasant than out in the grimy corridor. For a start, his workshop is clean. It doesn't smell like rotting garbage and star fuel. It's also a place I like spending time.

Did I say I was a tech nerd? No? Which brings me to the reason I was running from my stepfather. I'd just sent all his dodgy dealings over to the National Fraud Office and the entire UK police force was about to descend on his empire in Leeds.

He thought he was safe in the North. He was wrong.

And he shouldn't have crossed me or my mum, the woman he drove into an early grave.

Yet, revenge wasn't as sweet as I thought it would be. Not when I found out someone I trusted had told him who sold him out. Things were about to get very unpleasant for me on Earth.

Here, in space, surrounded by aliens, I can do what I want, to whom I want and there's no comeback.

"So, who exactly is your client?" I ask Nayl, fingering items I probably shouldn't be touching.

"I am." A large figure steps out from behind a set of racking.

"Fuck!" I turn to run, but there's one behind me too. He grabs my arms.

Habosu!

The massive green alien trolls are absolutely the last ones I ever want to see, in particular the very ugly one standing in front of me with a nasty grin. Lord Makkan, as he titles himself, because I can't see anything aristocratic about the mound of sweaty green flesh (far too much of it on show) and blubber.

"Nayl?" I say, trying hard to keep the wobble from my voice.

"I'm sorry, Chrissy, he's going to harm my younglings," Nayl says.

"Hayla was pregnant?" I say in surprise, like it's the most important thing right now.

"Our eggs finally hatched," Nayl replies, a hint of pride within all the regret.

"Enough!" Lord Makkan roars. Closing the distance between us, he grabs my neck and squeezes, making me cough. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" I manage to get out.

"Don't play games with me, female," he snarls in my face, a gust of foul breath making me gag. "I know you took it and I want it back, or…" He looks over his shoulder at Nayl. "Let's just say your friend won't like what happens to his younglings."