11 Kikila

The bounty hunter's grip on me is strong as he chugs yet another glass of whiskey.

I'm torn between the shock of seeing my male has chased me to a spaceport in the middle of nowhere and found me in the bar filled with our enemies. He's been thrown out, but he's here.

Now my concern is the sheer volume of alcohol my captor is downing. He doesn't trust me based on how tightly he grips me. He knows I won't fight him because all he has to do is push me around, and it's like getting a thousand tiny slivers all at once. But I think he's just as stressed out by whoever we're meeting next.

When the glass is empty, he lugs me through the bar and toward a door at the back.

The hallways are hot and dark, lit only by periodic red lights.

"What exactly is it that your client thinks they're going to get out of me?"

"Shut up."

I resist his pull, but he jerks me onward.

"Do not make me reconsider letting you live. I would enjoy silencing you forever for what you've done."

We arc through the station around what I can only imagine is the thermal core that keeps the station from succumbing to the chill of space. "I did nothing!"

"You took five of my kind, injured three. That is a crime against all of us."

"You invaded our ship." As I say it, I think harder about what they might've wanted. They're quickly angered, and I haven't helped my situation with my stressed tone.

Why did they invade? We didn't even get a chance to find out.

As I think back to tasing them in defense, I wonder what would make a Novark dare to do such a thing.

He shoves me into a junction that leads in many directions. We turn left and walk up to a set of doors guarded by three of his kind in black tactical gear with pissy expressions. He shows them a badge which they scan with a handheld device. The closest guard scrolls through data on his visor and motions us inside.

The young male behind the desk gets up and walks toward us. My captor stops us in the middle of the floor.

"Miss Amali." He turns to the bounty hunter. "Gorsh. She's in one piece this time. I expected less."

Gorsh clicks his tongue and looks away. "Just want my payment."

"In a moment."

"Shofpa—"

"No. You took her from the races, and someone followed her here." Shofpa scowls at him. "So yet again, I have to deal with your loose ends. You would've noticed if you hadn't been drowning your guilt."

Gorsh's grip tightens until I can feel the blood pooling in my hand. Tension brews between them, and I'm caught in the middle, not liking my odds of survival.

I'm not interested in puffing up like a bad case of poison ivy trying to deal with the sheer volume of tiny barbs that would be stuck in my flesh if I fought back.

"What is this all about?" I calmly ask.

Shofpa drags his eyes to mine. "You have shields. We need them."

"Talk to the Sol's Council. I'm not a liaison."

"But you're an engineer, and they won't give us the time of day because of our anger management issues," Shofpa counters. His skin shifts, crawling and making his quills stand on end.

"You clearly don't need shields," I remark. "Your guy slipped in and took me when the race was surrounded by patrol ships. You have cloaking abilities. What more do you need?"

"Shields!" Shofpa shouts, his face darkening. He taps a finger to my sternum. "If you don't give me your shieldtech, I will send my hunters in to break more hearts than you can fathom."

The Abr racers, the very thing I was considering the Nebs doing.

"Why do you need shields?" I calmly ask. It's a struggle with as hard as my heart pounds.

Shofpa glowers at me. He's a shade darker than Gorsh with shrewd eyes that look me over like I'm some disgusting disappointment. "For protection."

"No shit, but against what?"

"That doesn't matter."

"It absolutely does," I defend, tugging against Gorsh's grip. "It changes the type of shield and the generation units that you need. There are programming and projection array materials that need to be selected."

Shofpa looks me over with disgust and an air of consideration. "Enemy fire."

"Sol Federation doesn't attack you. So what is it? Friendly fire?" I prod.

"No! Are you really that oblivious?" He licks the spittle from his lips and motions dismissively to the side. "Put her in a room. I will interrogate her later!"

Gorsh shoves me toward an adjacent hallway. And then it occurs to me.

"The empire."

Gorsh slows and shakes with anger, but his attention isn't on me. He looks back at Shofpa.

The boss leans against his desk and laces his arms together. "Your federation works together to save everyone in its territory, but they never consider the rest of us. We are desperate, same as you, to protect our kind."

"You could join," I offer. "The problem is that you make a habit of taking what isn't yours, and you hurt innocents."

"Are you innocent?" he challenges.

I want to think I am. I've never gone out and intentionally hurt anyone. But I did hurt three of their kind, even if it was in defense. "Is anyone who is involved in our kind of business?"

Shofpa looks thoughtful for a moment, then flicks his hand. Gorsh drags me down the hallway and into another cell. He shoves me inside and shuts the door. But he doesn't storm off like I expect.

Gorsh braces himself on the doorframe and sighs. "We lost a hacanita last week."

Anguish grips me. In Varek, the word isn't directly translatable but I know its essence. "A ship with families on it?"

He glares at me through the glass, his voice muffled. "You will help us, or I will start to kill off everyone you care about until you give us what we need."

He straightens and starts to walk off.

"This isn't how you make friends. You know that, right?" I ask.

Gorsh growls and punches the glass, sending cracks crawling out to the frame's edges.

I scramble back then dare to ask, "Do you want to help the Nebulous Empire with their needs when what they do is attack your ships?"

Gorsh's fury grows. "They need nothing because they take everything!"

"Are you sure?"My pulse pounds as he tenses for another swing. "You're missing my point! You would not help those who attack you, so why should I help you?"

"Because of the families. Terrans value them over power, like us. Nebs value power." Gorsh's narrowed eyes leave my cell and swing down the corridor. He scans behind him then back the other way again. "Who's working with you?"

"What are you talking about? I was in a fucking race, not on an assignment."

Gorsh tenses and lifts a gun down the hallway. "Show yourself!"

I follow his eyes but don't see anyone. Yet in my core I know my alien is out there somewhere. At least I hope he is.

Gorsh slams a palm against the cell's frame. "Where is your tracker?"

"I don't have one! I broke it off before I went to the race!"

His eyes narrow at me. "You lie! Abr is tracking you. There's a signal coming from you somewhere!"

A black blur slams into him, carrying Gorsh away from my cell.

I rush to the fractured glass, trying to steal a glimpse, but all I can see is fragments of a fight paired with grunts and growls. I can't see who it is. Maybe Roan. I pray it isn't Draeke. But at the moment, I might tolerate the scum bag to be free of this place.