20. Maryse

CHAPTER 20

MARYSE

T he stealth suit clings to my curves like a second skin. A dozen status lights blink across my forearm display - power cells, sensor arrays, and the experimental photon scatter field that will keep me invisible. At least until I move.

"Check, check." I tap each component laid out on the bed. Sonic dampeners for my boots. Signal scramblers. Even my old data sniffer from Programming 201.

The collar at my throat pulses with a gentle warmth. I haven't been able to remove it since Bruticus left. Don't want to, if I'm honest.

"Detective Thux, are you in position?"

"Affirmative." Vorpa's gravelly voice comes through my earpiece. "Security's already giving me the stink-eye. When I flash my badge, they'll be too busy dealing with an 'official investigation' to notice you slipping past."

"Copy that." My hands shake as I load spare power cells into the utility belt. "Just... keep them occupied for fifteen minutes. That's all I need."

"You got it, kid. Though I still say we should wait for backup."

"No time. Father's selling more people tonight. I can feel it."

The bed creaks as I gather up the last pieces of equipment. Motion sensors. Audio bugs. Everything I need to expose what's really happening in that club.

"Besides." My voice catches. "Bruticus is still out there somewhere. The sooner we stop my father, the sooner..."

"Focus on the mission, Maryse. Romance comes later."

"Right." I check my chrono. Ten minutes until the party starts. "Moving into position now."

The photon scatter field hums to life, bending light around my body until I fade from view. Time to find out just how deep my father's crimes really go.

The guard's keycard beeps, and I slip through behind him before the door whooshes closed. My heart pounds, but the photon scatter field holds. He never notices me.

"East corridor clear," Vorpa's voice crackles in my ear. "Your father's in a meeting across the station. Office should be empty."

My boots whisper against the polished floor as I navigate the familiar halls. How many times did I visit Dad here as a little girl? The memory of sitting in his big chair, pretending to be important, turns sour in my throat.

The office door yields to my old access code. Still works - he never changed it. The room smells of leather and his favorite cigars.

"Starting search pattern alpha." I slide my hands along the walls, checking for seams. "Nothing yet behind the paintings."

"Check the desk. Most egomaniacs hide their secrets close."

The massive mahogany desk dominates the room. I trace my fingers underneath, finding only smooth wood. But when I push against the wall behind it...

"Got something." A panel clicks and swings inward. "Hidden door. Looks like it leads down."

"Careful, kid. No telling what's down there."

Bass-heavy music throbs up the narrow stairwell, along with the sound of glasses clinking and raucous laughter. The steps curve down into darkness, lit only by strips of purple neon along the walls.

"I'm going in."

"Maryse, wait for-"

I switch off the comm. The music grows louder with each step down. My stealth field flickers in the pulsing lights, but the party sounds should cover any noise I make.

Whatever's at the bottom of these stairs, I have to know the truth. Even if it destroys everything I thought I knew about my father.

The stairwell opens into a corridor that takes my breath away. Plush crimson carpeting muffles my footsteps. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow prisms across marble statues of ancient Greek goddesses. The air carries notes of jasmine and vanilla.

"This can't be right." I trace my fingers along the mahogany paneling. Nothing about this matches the utilitarian admin building above.

Music and laughter drift from an open doorway ahead. I edge closer, keeping to the shadows despite my stealth field.

The lounge sprawls before me, all leather and chrome and mood lighting. Father sits at the center of a curved booth, sharing drinks with Merchant Captain Ross and several other faces I recognize from station society pages.

"Another round!" Father raises his glass, and a Vakutan woman in a shimmering bodysuit gracefully refills it. She laughs at something he says, her golden scales catching the light.

My stomach unclenches slightly. The servers move freely among the guests, some pausing to dance or chat. A human woman perches on the arm of a merchant's chair, sipping her own cocktail as she runs fingers through his hair.

No chains. No guards. Just what looks like a very exclusive gentleman's club.

"Here's to another profitable quarter." Captain Ross clinks glasses with Father. The women raise their own drinks in response.

Could I have been wrong? These women seem happy enough. Well-paid entertainment staff at a private club isn't exactly a crime.

My collar pulses warm against my throat. What would Bruticus think of all this? He was so certain Father was guilty of something terrible at Rakura IV.

But maybe there's more to the story. Maybe we both jumped to conclusions without all the facts.

A crash from the far end of the lounge shatters my doubts. My breath catches as two massive Grolgath in ill-fitting tuxedos drag someone between them.

My heart stops. Red scales catch the light - Vorpa? No. This female is smaller, more delicate. The same golden eyes though, wide with fear and rage.

"Let me go!" Her voice carries the same gravelly undertones as her sister's.

The chains binding her arms behind her back force her shoulders at an unnatural angle. Another length of chain circles her throat, pulling tight with each struggled breath. No fancy dress or makeup for this one - just torn clothes and defiance.

The Grolgath throw her at Father's feet. She hits the floor hard but manages to twist onto her knees, baring sharp teeth.

"Still won't cooperate?" Father's cultured voice carries clearly across the room. "Such a shame. Your sister was much more... reasonable."

"Vorpa would never submit to you!" The young Vakutan spits blood onto his polished shoes.

Father sighs and nods to one of the Grolgath. The brute yanks the throat chain, cutting off her words in a strangled gasp.

"Now Prova, that's no way for a lady to behave." Father dabs his shoe with a silk handkerchief. "Perhaps another session in isolation will improve your manners."

My nails dig into my palms as I watch. This is what Vorpa meant. This is what really happens in Father's private club. The other women may seem willing, but how many started like Prova? How many were broken until they learned to smile and pour drinks for their captors?

The chain bites into Prova's scales as Father yanks it taut. Her golden eyes bulge, clawed hands clenching behind her back.

My legs tremble. The stealth field wavers as I fight to stay still. To stay hidden. To not scream.

"Ready to behave now?" Father's voice carries that same gentle tone he used when teaching me to ride a bike. When kissing my scraped knees. When reading me bedtime stories.

"Fuck... you..." Prova chokes out the words through blue-tinged lips.

The chain goes tight again. Prova thrashes, her legs thrashing against the carpet. Her struggles grow weaker with each passing second.

My hand finds the stun pistol at my hip. One shot. I could end this right now. Save her. Stop him.

But before I can move, Father releases the chain. Prova collapses, gulping air in great heaving gasps.

"Are you ready to be a good girl?" Father straightens his cuffs, looking down at her like she's a misbehaving pet.

Acid burns the back of my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. This monster wearing my father's face - this can't be real. This can't be the man who raised me.

Prova's response is to rear up and spit directly in his face.

You go girl. My fingers curl into fists as pride and horror war in my chest. Whatever happens next, I know she won't break. Not like the others.

"I'll take her off your hands." Captain Ross's voice carries across the lounge. "Untrained ones are more... entertaining."

My fingers dig into the doorframe. The stealth field flickers as nausea rolls through me.

"She's not ready for sale." Father wipes Prova's spit from his face with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Still needs proper conditioning."

"That's half the fun." Ross downs his whiskey, ice cubes clinking. "Breaking in the wild ones."

Father's lips curve into that same smile he wore when negotiating my first skycar purchase. "Care to make it interesting?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Break her by morning, she's yours free of charge." Father straightens his cuffs. "Fail, and you pay full price for a trained companion."

Ross's laugh echoes off marble walls. "Done."

The merchant captain grabs Prova's chain, yanking her to her feet. She stumbles but keeps her chin high, golden eyes blazing.

My heart pounds as Ross drags her toward my hiding spot. The stealth field won't hold if they bump into me. But I can't move without giving myself away.

"Which room?" Ross pulls Prova past marble columns.

"End of the hall." Father's voice follows them. "Sound-proofed, of course."

They're getting closer. Three steps away. Two. Prova's scales catch the light as she thrashes against the chain.

I press myself against the wall, holding my breath as Ross drags Prova past. My stealth field flickers but holds. The door clicks shut behind them with an ominous finality.

The keypad glows red - locked. My hands shake as I pull out the data sniffer. Just like in Programming 201, except now someone's life depends on my hacking skills.

"Come on, come on." The device cycles through possible combinations. Each second feels like an eternity.

A muffled thud comes from inside the room. My jaw clenches. Hold on, Prova.

The keypad flashes green. I slip inside, keeping close to the wall.

Ross looms over Prova, who's been thrown onto a plush bed. Her chains rattle as she tries to twist away. His meaty hands grip her jaw, forcing it open.

"Let's see you spit on me now." His face is red with rage, spittle flying as he speaks. He shoves a white hand towel between her sharp teeth.

Prova's golden eyes blaze with defiance even as tears streak down her scales. She tries to shake free, but the chains binding her arms leave her helpless.

The wrench feels cold and heavy in my hands as I raise it above my head. One good swing is all it will take. Just like fixing the hydroponic systems in engineering class.

Except this time, I'm not fixing equipment. I'm about to crack open a man's skull.

My hands don't shake anymore.

The wrench connects with a wet thud. Ross staggers, blood spraying across the silk bedspread. His hands fly to the back of his head, coming away crimson.

His scream pierces my ears as he whirls to face me. The stealth field flickers and dies, revealing my presence. His eyes go wide with recognition.

"You..." Blood trickles down his neck. "Daniels's daughter?"

The wrench feels right in my grip. Natural. Like it belongs there. Ross stumbles back, hands raised.

"Wait, please-"

I see Prova's tears on her scales. Hear the way he laughed about "breaking" her. The wrench swings again, catching him across the face. Bone crunches. More blood sprays.

He goes down. I follow, bringing the wrench down again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves up my arms. My shoulders burn. Still I swing.

For Prova. For all the others he's hurt. For everyone who ever suffered at the hands of men like him.

A muffled sound finally penetrates my rage. Prova watches me with those fierce golden eyes, still gagged with the white towel.

My arms drop. The wrench clatters to the floor, leaving red smears on the carpet. I stumble over to her, fingers trembling as I pull the towel from her mouth.

She works her jaw for a moment, then grins, showing sharp teeth. "I think you missed a spot."

A sharp knock at the door makes my heart skip. Blood roars in my ears as I grab the silk blanket from the bed, throwing it over Ross's crumpled form. My fingers find the image inducer controls on my belt, and Captain Ross's face overlays my own like a digital mask.

"Voice pattern alpha," I whisper to my collar. The modulation software kicks in just as another knock echoes through the room.

"Come!" The words emerge in Ross's gruff baritone, dripping with annoyance.

The door slides open. One of Father's Grolgath thugs fills the frame, beady eyes scanning the room. "Everything okay, Captain? We heard..."

"I'm fine," I snap in Ross's voice, channeling his earlier arrogance. "As you can see, I've already broken my little plaything."

Prova catches on instantly. She crawls across the floor on her knees, chains jingling, and presses her head against my leg like a beaten dog. Her whimper sounds pathetic, completely unlike the fierce warrior who spat in my father's face.

I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. She's laying it on thick - trembling, making little mewling sounds. But the Grolgath's expression shifts from suspicion to understanding.

"Very good, sir." He nods approvingly. "Commander Daniels will be pleased."

The door whooshes shut, leaving us alone again.

The lockpicks from my utility belt make quick work of Prova's chains. She rubs her wrists, scales gleaming in the dim light.

"Let's go." My voice shakes. "Before someone else checks on us."

We slip into the hallway, my stealth field covering us both. The music from the lounge grows fainter as we climb the stairs back to Father's office.

Father's office. The thought makes bile rise in my throat. How many nights did I sit on his knee while he worked late? How many times did he tell me stories about protecting the innocent, serving justice? All lies.

Every memory of my childhood twists like a knife in my gut. The proud smile when I got into engineering school. The way he dried my tears after my first breakup. The bedtime stories about brave Alliance officers keeping the peace.

Was any of it real? Or was I just another possession to show off?

Prova's clawed hand squeezes my shoulder. "Focus. Grieve later."

She's right. We need to move.

The admin building's night shift barely glances up as we pass. Just another late meeting ending, as far as they know.

Vorpa waits in the shadows outside, tension visible in every line of her body. When she spots us, her usual stoic expression cracks.

"Little sister!"

The two Vakutans collide in a tangle of limbs and scales. Vorpa's gravelly voice breaks on a sob as she clutches Prova close.

"You're safe now," Vorpa whispers. "You're safe."

My condo isn't far. The guards won't think to look there - who would suspect the Commander's dutiful daughter of harboring fugitives?

I lead them through back alleys and maintenance tunnels, every shadow making me jump. But we make it without incident.

No one's coming after us…but for how long?