11. Bruticus

CHAPTER 11

brUTICUS

T he scent of recycled air and stale beer wafts through Level 27's cramped corridors. My boots click against metal grating as I keep to the shadows, far from the Admin district where those marines met their end.

"Got something special for a thousand creds." The information broker's tentacles curl around his datapad. "Kiphian named Zex-Ra. Specializes in custom locks."

"That's ludicrously high."

"Ludicrous credits buys quality intel. Zex works the Rusty Bolt most nights."

The credit chip changes hands. Down here in the station's bowels, everything has a price. The broker's info better be worth it - Daniels's office sits behind three layers of security. But a Kiphian could slice through them like butter.

The Rusty Bolt squats ahead, neon sign flickering in the artificial twilight. Perfect place for a locksmith who prefers discretion. I pause at the threshold.

Something prickles at the back of my neck. The corridor behind me stretches empty, but instinct screams danger. I lean against a grimy wall, pretending to check messages while watching the reflections in a broken vid screen.

There. A flash of movement three shops back, ducking into an alcove. Amateur move.

"Come into my office." The words barely leave my lips when footsteps whisper on the grating.

The Rusty Bolt can wait. Time to find out who's so interested in my business.

The abandoned warehouse looms ahead, its doors stuck permanently open from centuries of rust. Perfect. My boots crunch over broken glass and discarded food containers as I stride inside. The stench of unwashed bodies and cheap synthehol fills my nostrils.

A Volaxian vagrant stirs in his makeshift bed of cargo netting, mandibles clicking in irritation. I pass him without a second glance, heading deeper into the gloom. Metal creaks overhead as ancient ventilation ducts strain against their moorings.

Footsteps echo behind me - my shadow can't resist following. The warehouse opens into a vast storage area, ceiling lost in darkness above. Skeletal shelving units create a maze of rusted metal.

I duck behind a fallen storage rack, muscles coiled tight. The footsteps draw closer, hesitant now. A shape emerges from the gloom - tall, broad-shouldered, moving with military precision.

My bone spurs slice through my jacket as I launch myself at them. We crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. My opponent twists, breaking my hold with practiced ease. Their fist connects with my jaw, sending stars exploding across my vision.

"Not bad for a grunt."

A kick sweeps my legs out. I roll with it, coming up in a fighting stance. My attacker mirrors me - balanced, dangerous. We trade blows in the darkness, neither gaining the upper hand. They match me move for move.

Blood trickles from a split in my lip. My opponent's breathing comes harsh and ragged. We circle each other in the gloom, looking for openings.

"Who sent you?"

Instead of answering, they drive forward with a flurry of strikes. I block most, but a few slip through my guard. Pain blossoms along my ribs. This is no common thug - they're trained, skilled.

Enough playing around. My bone spurs extend fully, tearing through my sleeves. The next time they lunge, I grab their arm and use their momentum to slam them into the concrete floor. The impact echoes through the warehouse.

They try to roll away but I'm done being gentle. I haul them up and drive them into a support beam. Their coat tears as I throw them across the room. They hit the ground hard, coat falling open.

Red scales catch the dim light. A female Vakutan in a crisp black uniform lies at my feet, golden eyes blazing with fury. The Alliance Section Sixty-Two badge on her chest gleams mockingly.

My blood turns to ice as I read the name: Detective Vorpa Thux.

Perfect. I just beat the hell out of a cop. So much for keeping a low profile while hunting Daniels.

"Well shit."

"Indeed." She spits blood onto the floor. "We need to talk, Bruticus."

Her laugh echoes through the warehouse, sharp and dangerous as broken glass.

"You think you've been subtle? Those IHC marines would beg to differ." She wipes blood from her scaled chin. "If they could still beg."

My bone spurs retract as I offer her a hand up. "Going to arrest me, Detective?"

"Alliance, not IHC. Dead marines aren't my jurisdiction." She ignores my hand, rising with fluid grace. "I'm after bigger prey. The same one you're hunting - Commander Daniels."

The name sends ice through my veins. My fists clench involuntarily. "What do you want?"

"Information exchange. I've got files you need, you've got skills I can use."

"Not interested in arrests. Daniels dies. That's non-negotiable."

Her golden eyes glitter in the dim light. "Details." She straightens her torn coat. "Dead or alive, he's coming with me and you can either help or I can drop a line to station security about those missing marines. Your call."

My bone spurs itch beneath my skin. One quick strike and the detective's throat would open like a flower. But more Alliance cops would come sniffing, and that would only make getting to Daniels harder.

"Fine. We work together. But Daniels dies on this station."

"Agreed." Her golden eyes narrow. "Though I want to know why first."

"Not part of the deal."

"Fair enough." She checks her wrist display. "You should get moving. Kiphians start drinking early, and Zex is useless after his third bottle of fermented slime."

My jaw clenches. "How long have you been following me?"

"Long enough to know your information broker overcharged. Zex only charges eight hundred credits for his services."

The detective's scales shimmer as she turns to leave. She pauses at the warehouse entrance, her smile sharp enough to cut.

"Yes, Bruticus, I DO know everything about you...including who you're sleeping with. Go do what you do best."

She vanishes into the shadows, leaving me alone with the stench of rust and synthehol. And the unsettling knowledge that she knows about Maryse.

The Rusty Bolt reeks of spilled vomit and unwashed bodies. I scan the dim interior, letting my eyes adjust to the haze of smoke. A Kiphian hunches over the bar, multiple arms wrapped around a bottle of something viscous and green.

"Zex-Ra?"

His head swivels toward me. "Depends who's asking."

"Someone with credits and an interesting challenge."

His lips stretch into a smile of amusement. "IHC security systems? Haven't cracked one of those in ages."

"Tomorrow night. Need all the security protocols disabled."

"Finally." He straightens, four of his arms gesturing excitedly. "Been bored slicing civilian systems. Military grade encryption? Now that's entertainment."

"Meet me here at 2100 hours. Bring your best tools."

"Wouldn't dream of anything less." He raises his bottle in a mock toast. "To interesting times."

I check my chronometer as I exit the bar. 1700 hours - Maryse's quantum mechanics class ended ten minutes ago. My steps quicken automatically at the thought of her smile, the way her eyes light up when she sees me.

The mission can wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I want is to hold her in my arms and forget about revenge, about Daniels, about everything except the taste of her lips and the sound of her laugh.

I must get back to her. Now.