Chapter Two

Raxon

The proximity alarm blared, shattering the silence on the bridge. My head snapped up, ears flicking forward as the hazy image on the view-screen solidified into the unmistakable silhouette of our target.

"There." I jabbed a claw at the grainy outline. "That's her—the Arudian slaver's ship."

Around me, the crew leaned in, studying the display with narrowed eyes and twitching whiskers. A low growl rumbled through the enclosed space, all of us scenting the same metallic tang of anticipation.

This was it. The culmination of cycles spent tracking this vila scum through the darkest corners of the galaxy. He'd taken his last score, committed his final atrocity against the civilized systems. By dawn, he'd be in chains, and the stolen cargo in his hold would be safely returned to their homeworlds.

If they were still alive, that is.

The thought made my hackles bristle, fresh fury simmering beneath my battle-leathers. Too many times, we'd arrived just moments too late—only to find the slaver's victims already sold, slaughtered, or worse. But not this time. Not on my watch.

"Helm, bring us around to attack vector phi-niner-three," I growled, claws flexing against the armrests of my command chair. "All gunners to your stations and prepare for full bombardment."

A chorus of rumbling affirmatives answered me as the bridge erupted into frenzied activity. I watched the view-screen as our armada shifted into formation, flanking the slaver's craft in a deadly crossfire.

My eyes narrowed as the target filled the display. Every line and contour burned into my mind from the thousands of reconnaissance images I'd pored over. I knew this ship, inside and out, could navigate her halls and compartments from memory.

Which was precisely why I'd been hand-picked to lead this mission. That, and the undisputed fact that nobody had more firsthand experience with the Arudianslave trade than a former captive like me.

A slight twinge ached from the old shackle scars ringing my wrists, but I shoved it aside with a shake of my mane. That was then—a lifetime ago, before I'd earned my stripes and sworn an oath to the Coalition Defense Force. These days, I stalked the hunters, and this slaver scum was my newest quarry.

"Sir?" My com-officer swiveled in his chair, one brow ridge arched. "The word from fleet command. We are clear to engage."

I flicked an ear in acknowledgment, straightening in my seat as I fixed the slaver craft with a predator's stare.

"Disengage stealth field and arm forward cannons. We'll cripple that ship, but I want minimum casualties. Our priority is preserving the cargo—those prisoners come first."

The gunners' confirmations rolled back to me, all of them primed and ready to strike. Only then did I rise to my feet, bracing my weight as I bellowed the order they'd been waiting for.

"Fire at will! Let's bag this scavenger!"

The first volley rocked the bridge, the deck quaking beneath my feet as ruby lances of light split the void. I watched, teeth bared in a savage grin, as the bolts hammered home against the slaver's hull.

Silver-blue energy shields flared to life, absorbing the brunt of the barrage. But they wouldn't hold forever—not against the combined firepower of the Coalition fleet.

Even as the first salvo faded, a second blistering wave erupted from our forward batteries, raking the hapless ship from stem to stern. This time, the impacts punched through the weakening shields in a starburst of detonations, shredding armor plating like a claw through flimsi.

The bridge crew erupted in a cacophony of roars and howls, scenting victory. But I held up a stayed paw, silencing them with a look that could cut durasteel.

Not yet. Not until I saw that accursed craft dead in the water, her crew neutralized or surrendering. Only then would I allow myself to savor this triumph.

A third salvo rocked the bridge, then a fourth, until at last the slaver's ship listed, venting atmosphere from a dozen gaping wounds along her flank. Her shields flickered and died, engines sputtering to silence as she drifted, crippled and defenseless.

Just as I'd planned.

"All batteries, cease fire!" I barked the order, already moving for the exit. "Prepare boarding parties and assault shuttles. We're going in!"

The bridge erupted in a flurry of motion as my crew scrambled to obey. I didn't wait to oversee the final preparations—the hard part was already done. Now came the delicate work of extracting the cargo and apprehending the scum responsible for this whole sordid affair.

And that task was mine alone.

I raced through the corridors. Crewmen scattered from my path, snapping off crisp salutes I acknowledged with a curt dip of my head.

By the time I reached the main hangar bay, the first assault shuttles were already powering up, armored hulls gleaming in the harsh landing lights. I sprang aboard the lead craft without breaking stride, weaving between the rows of heavily armed commandos until I reached the cockpit.

"Take us in hard and fast," I growled at the pilot, an elite member of my personal guard detail. "Gimme a straight shot into that cargo hold."

He flashed me a feral grin, whiskers twitching. "You know I live for that crazy shit, Raxon. Strap in and hold on tight."

I shot him a withering look, but did as instructed, sealing the safety harness across my broad chest. As the canopy polarized and the deafening roar of repulsors spun up around us, I closed my eyes and centered myself.

This was it. The moment of truth when the hunter became the hunted, and the tables turned on the vila scum who'd made their fortune in stolen lives.

A slight shudder ran through the shuttle as the main bay doors cycled open, expelling us into the inky void. The pilot angled our approach, lining up the battered slaver ship in our crosshairs as two more assault shuttles flanked us in tight formation.

"ETA to target, twenty secars," the pilot called out, pulling me from my reverie. "Get ready to get frosty, boss. We're going in hot."

I rumbled low in my throat, sighting down the length of my pulse-rifle as the slaver craft swelled to fill the canopy. Energy claws extended from the shuttle's underbelly, punching through the crippled hull and locking into place with a bone-jarring thud.

The decompression alarms started wailing even before the sealed airlocks had cycled shut behind us. I was already moving, slamming a fresh power cell home and charging the boarding ramp with my team on my heels.

Smoke billowed through the narrow passage, burning my nostrils with its acrid, charnel reek. The stench of vented atmosphere, of shredded bulkheads and ruptured life support. It was a smell I knew all too well from a hundred combat drops.

But there was something else too—something that made me hesitate for the span of a single, ragged breath. A scent that didn't belong, cutting through the miasma like a plasma blade with its strange, musky sweetness.

I shook my mane, forcing the distraction from my mind as I led my team into the breach, rifle at the ready. Whatever that smell was, it would have to wait. Right now, I had a job to do—a cargo hold full of lives to save from the clutches of that vila filth.

The passageway opened onto a scene of utter devastation, like the heart of a battle-torn warzone. Smoke choked the air, burning my eyes and throat as I swept the chaos with my rifle muzzle. Everywhere I looked, bodies and wreckage littered the deck in mangled, scorched heaps.

But there was no sign of the slaver or his crew, not yet. Just row upon row of cages lining the outer bulkheads, each filled with a wide variety of creatures. Some sentient, others were not.

That strange, sweet scent washed over me again, stronger this time. Unmistakable even through the dense pall of smoke and discharged ordnance. It was coming from that last cage.

My hackles rose as I stalked closer, motioning for my team to fan out and secure the perimeter. As I neared the cell, the smoke parted just enough for me to make out a hunched, slight figure pressed against the bars. Pale and hairless, it flinched back as I approached, eyes wide with a terror so primal it made my throat constrict.

What in the great spiral was this creature? I'd never encountered anything like it in all my years, not in a thousand different worlds. Its scent was alien, almost sickly sweet and yet underpinned with rich, earthy notes that made my mouth water despite myself.

I shook my head, pushing the bizarre reaction aside as I studied the strange being. Cowering against the rear of its cage, it watched me with those huge, glistening eyes—eyes that shone with a keen, haunting intelligence unlike anything I'd seen in even the most sapient prey species.

It... she was no dumb beast, that much was clear. This wasn't some mindless, brutish creature to be processed and sold to the nearest slaughterhouse like so much meat on the hoof.

No, this was a thinking, feeling being, trapped and terrified and utterly alone on a ship that reeked of death and destruction.

My grip tightened on my rifle as my pulse quickened. A million questions burned in my brain, but there was no time for answers now. Not until I neutralized the real threat aboard this craft and secured my objective.

Locking eyes with the strange creature, I offered it a slight dip of my head—a subtle reassurance. At least I hoped that's how it would be taken. Then I turned on my heel and followed the smoke-choked corridor deeper into the bowels of the slaver ship.

My team fanned out around me, weapons raised and swiveling in eerie synchronicity. We moved with the silence of seasoned hunters, checking every nook and cranny for any sign of danger.

But the further we pressed into the ship, the more apparent it became that we were alone—alone except for the drifting miasma of smoke and the distant, tortured groans of over-stressed bulkheads straining to hold the ship intact.

"Clear," one of my lieutenants rumbled at last, lowering his rifle. "No sign of hostiles."

I grunted in acknowledgment, scanning the shattered corridor around us. A dozen bodies lay strewn about in various states of dismemberment and scorch—all of them Arudian, the hideous slavers themselves.

By the looks of it, they'd attempted to make a stand here, to mount a final, desperate defense of their foul operation. But against a withering assault like the one we'd unleashed, they'd never stood a chance.

A low growl built in my throat as I circled the body. This one wore the tattered, scorched remnants of a command tunic, the insignia identifying him as the ship's master. The ringleader, the one who'd profited most from the nightmarish trade in stolen lives.

And now he lay dead at my feet. The Coalition's uncompromising justice wiped another blight on the galaxy clean.

I pivoted to address my team, already preparing to issue new orders to begin the search and recovery effort, when a flicker of movement over my shoulder made me pause.

There, creeping out of the smoke-shrouded wreckage of a buckled bulkhead, was the unmistakable silhouette of a lone survivor. An Arudian male, half-dragging himself along the deck with one arm clutched around his midsection.

My rifle snapped up, tracking his sluggish progress as a snarl ripped from my throat.

"You there! Stand down and identify yourself!"

The Arudian froze, then slowly lifted his remaining hand in a gesture of surrender so feeble it was almost pitiful. Thick, ropey strands of his own viscera trailed behind him, glistening and slick on the deck plates.

He tried to speak, but only a wet, gurgling rasp escaped his ruined throat. I could see the light fading in his beady black eyes, the last flickers of life trickling away with each rasping intake of smoke-fouled air.

Lowering my rifle, I strode towards him with cold, purposeful strides, looming over his broken form. Up close, the extent of his wounds was even more horrific - shrapnel scoring, plasma burns, the works. The slaver was dying, literally coming apart at the seams.

But he was still clinging to life. Still conscious, if only just. Which meant he could still answer for his crimes before the great cosmic wheel turned once more.

I crouched beside him, ignoring the puddle of gore soaking into my combat leathers. Up close, his scent was rancid, tinged with the charnel reek of death itself.

"You and your crew brought this on yourselves," I rumbled, holding his gaze with a look of pure disgust. "Where is your leader? Where is Kruznek?"

The Arudian gurgled again, a thick gobbet of viscous fluid spilling over his mangled lips. But there was no mistaking the flicker of defiance in his sunken eyes, the barest hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his maw.

"Gone," he rasped at last, each word a labored rasp that sprayed more gore across my muzzle. "You're... too late."

White-hot rage seared through me, boiling in my veins at his mocking tone. Too late? After all the sacrifices, all the resources poured into this very operation to bring his vile operation to its knees?

No. I refused to accept that.

My paw lashed out, burying itself in the slaver's throat as I slammed him against the bulkhead. He gurgled, eyes bulging as I leaned in until our noses were almost touching.

"Where?" I snarled, baring every razor-sharp fang. "Where did he go?"

For a long, tense moment, the only sounds were the slaver's wet, wheezing gasps as the life drained from him. His eyes searched my own, that same infuriating hint of a smirk still playing across his bloodied maw.

Then, with a final, shuddering exhalation, the light faded from his gaze. His head lolled to the side, jaw going slack as death finally claimed him.

I roared in frustration, hurling his lifeless husk away from me to clatter across the deck in a spray of gore. Bunching on my haunches, I turned to rake my team with a withering glare.

"Fan out," I growled, ears flat against my skull. "Search every compartment, every crawlspace on this husk of a ship. I want the location of Kruznek, and I want it now!"

The others scattered to obey, disappearing into the haze as I forced myself to take deep, steadying breaths. We weren't too late. We couldn't be.

There were always more leads to follow, more avenues to pursue. The Coalition Intelligence Corps would extract every last scrap of data from this wreck's computers, every coded transmission and encrypted log. If Kruznek was out there, we would find him.