35. Maar

CHAPTER 35

MAAR

" I 'm sad," I say to the bartender. "But so happy."

"Humans have a word for that," the bartender says. "Bittersweet."

I nurse my drink, the smooth Vakutan whiskey a poor substitute for the warmth I crave. The Mandarin Oriental's opulent bar feels hollow, a gilded cage mocking my self-imposed exile. My eyes keep drifting to the window, thinking of Alyssa and our son.

"Another?" The bartender's voice cuts through my reverie.

I shake my head. "Better keep a clear head."

The words barely leave my lips when the air shifts. Three IHC Marines stride in, their crisp uniforms a stark contrast to the plush surroundings. My muscles tense instinctively.

One of them, a lanky redhead, locks eyes with me. Recognition flashes across his face. "You there! Hold it!"

I feign confusion as they approach. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

The leader, a grizzled veteran with a scar across his chin, narrows his eyes. "Papers. Now."

I reach into my jacket, movements deliberately slow. "Of course, officer. Just a simple tourist here."

I hand over my forged travel permit, praying the craftsmanship holds up. The veteran scrutinizes it, his frown deepening.

"This doesn't look right," he growls. "You're coming with us for questioning."

My heart races, but I keep my voice steady. "Surely there's been some mistake. I assure you?—"

The redhead cuts me off, reaching for his stunner. "Hands where we can see them!"

Time slows. I could go quietly, but now that everyone is safe, I really don't give a fuck. In a fluid motion, I grab my glass and hurl the contents into the veteran's eyes.

He howls in pain as I duck under the redhead's wild swing. My elbow connects with his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. The third Marine, a stocky woman, lunges at me. I sidestep, using her momentum to send her crashing into a nearby table.

Chaos erupts in the bar. Patrons scream and scramble for cover. I vault over the bar, glass crunching under my boots. The bartender cowers in the corner.

"Sorry about the mess," I mutter, grabbing a bottle of top-shelf liquor.

The Marines are regrouping, drawing their weapons. I smash the bottle against the edge of the bar, creating a makeshift shield of alcohol and glass shards. It won't stop a direct hit, but it might buy me a precious second.

"Stand down!" the veteran roars, his eyes still watering. "This is your last warning!"

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. "Come and get me."

The makeshift shield shatters under a barrage of stunner fire. I dive behind an overturned table, my ears ringing from the chaos. Glass crunches beneath my boots as I scramble for cover.

"Give it up, Vakutan!" the veteran Marine bellows. "You're outgunned and outnumbered!"

I chuckle, tasting blood. "Never been much for math, friend."

The redhead inches closer, weapon trained on my position. "Last chance. Come out with your hands up!"

"Now where's the fun in that?" I taunt, scanning the room for an escape route.

The stocky female Marine flanks me from the left. I feint right, then roll left, catching her off-guard. My fist connects with her jaw, sending her sprawling. But the moment of triumph is short-lived as a stunner bolt catches me in the shoulder.

Pain explodes through my body, my muscles seizing. I grit my teeth, fighting to stay conscious. "That the best you got?"

The veteran closes in, a grim smile on his scarred face. "Oh, we're just getting started."

I lunge at him, ignoring the burning in my limbs. We grapple, crashing into tables and chairs. His fist finds my ribs, and I hear something crack. I retaliate with a headbutt that leaves us both seeing stars.

"Stubborn bastard," he grunts, blood streaming from his nose.

"You have no idea," I wheeze, driving my knee into his gut.

But even as I gain the upper hand, I feel another stunner bolt hit me from behind. My vision blurs, the world tilting sideways. I stumble, my legs giving out beneath me.

The last thing I see before darkness claims me is the veteran's face, a mix of grudging respect and annoyance in his eyes.

I come to in a sterile holding cell, my body aching in places I didn't know existed. The harsh fluorescent lights make me squint as I take in my surroundings.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," a familiar voice says.

The veteran Marine stands on the other side of the energy barrier, arms crossed. His nose is bandaged, a testament to our earlier scuffle.

"Cozy place you've got here," I croak, sitting up with a groan. "Though the hospitality leaves something to be desired."

He snorts. "You're lucky to be alive after that stunt you pulled."

"What can I say? I like to make an impression."

I lean against the cold wall of my cell, the energy barrier humming softly. Time crawls by, each minute an eternity. The veteran Marine, who I've started calling "Scarface" in my head, paces outside.

"You know, this silent treatment isn't very becoming," I quip, breaking the monotony.

Scarface grunts. "Didn't realize I was here for your entertainment."

"Come on, we bonded back there. Shared some quality violence."

He stops pacing, fixing me with a hard stare. "You think this is a game?"

I shrug, wincing at the pain in my ribs. "Life's a game, friend. Some of us just play for higher stakes."

"Like endangering civilians in a bar fight?"

"Hey, I didn't start that dance. You boys cut in."

A younger Marine approaches, whispering something to Scarface. He nods, then turns back to me.

I raise an eyebrow as the cell door slides open with a soft hiss. A young Marine, barely old enough to shave, stands at attention.

"Your shuttle's ready, sir," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

I glance at Scarface, who nods curtly. "Let's go. Your going offworld."

My muscles protest as I stand, but I'll be damned if I show any weakness. We walk through sterile corridors, the young Marine leading the way while Scarface brings up the rear. The spaceport bustles with activity, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the holding cell.

As we approach the shuttle, my heart rate quickens. Something's off. This isn't standard procedure for a prisoner transfer.

The shuttle door slides open, and my breath catches in my throat. Alyssa sits inside, cradling our son. She looks up, a smile lighting her face that makes my knees weak.

"Are you ready to go?" she asks, her voice a balm to my battered soul.