Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

W raith's soft boots made no sound as he moved quickly along the decrepit corridors of the ancient space station, as silent as one of the phantoms for which he was named. The stench of rust and decay filled the air, a testament to the station's age and neglect. Much of the lighting had already burnt out and several of the remaining lights flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls and created a disorienting chiaroscuro effect, but it was of no consequence to him.

He'd been in far too many similar environments to let it distract him and his enhanced vision had no trouble penetrating the darker areas as he scanned for any indication that his quarry was present. Even though the place appeared to be deserted, he knew better than to let his guard down.

The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional creak of metal settling or the distant wheeze of the laboring life support system. As he approached a junction in the corridor, a faint shimmer in the air caught his eye and he heard an almost imperceptible hum. He stopped and studied the area for a moment, then picked up a tangled remnant of wire from the floor and tossed it forward. The wire sizzled and disintegrated in mid-air.

Fuck . An energy barrier. This was no standard security measure for an abandoned station.

He pulled out a small electromagnetic device, calibrated it, and aimed it at the barrier. A pulse of energy shot out, temporarily disrupting the field, and he slipped through, the barrier snapping back into place behind him. Breaking the field was a calculated risk - the interruption had lasted only seconds, but it could have been noticed - and he paused to listen for any sign of an alarm.

When the silence remained unbroken, he continued his journey towards the center of the station. As he turned down another corridor, he encountered a series of laser grids, the dust floating in the air revealing the red beams crisscrossing the passage. Annoying, but not much of a deterrent. He studied the timing for a few minutes, then slipped through them, contorting his body with practiced ease as he navigated the deadly web.

At the far end of the hallway, a heavy blast door blocked his path. That in itself was not unusual, but the control panel next to the door was unusually complex - military-grade and far beyond the usual standard on this type of station. He pulled out another device, this one a compact hacking tool, and connected it to the panel.

As the tool cycled, he permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction. The presence of these advanced security measures confirmed the information he'd uncovered. He'd been hired to track down a ring of slavers trafficking in human females, and although his first lead had died before Wraith caught up with him, he'd been able to retrieve a data drive from the slaver's ship. That data had led him down a circuitous route to this station and what he hoped was a key hub in the slavers' operations.

The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss to reveal an ordinary lift. After a careful examination, he stepped inside, then paused to study the options. Most stations followed a fairly standardized pattern which meant the control room should be at the top of the station. Bracing himself against the walls in case of a trap, he chose the top floor.

His caution was unnecessary. The lift rose jerkily but uneventfully up the shaft, and he shook his head. Careless of whoever had installed the other security measures to assume that no further precautions were necessary. He would have arranged for the floor to drop out, or perhaps sent a deadly gas through the air vent…

He amused himself by plotting other possible traps until the elevator jerked to a halt and the doors opened. Keeping his body pressed against the side wall, he did a quick survey of the control room beyond.

The pristine area was a stark contrast to the dilapidated corridors he'd traversed previously. The space wasn't large, but state-of-the-art equipment lined one wall while a small but luxurious seating area occupied the center of the room. Everything he saw confirmed his suspicions - this wasn't just an ordinary hideout, but a well-funded, sophisticated operation.

He glided silently into the room, his senses on high alert. There was no sign of life, but the indications of recent occupation were everywhere. Two half-empty glasses of wine were abandoned on the low table in front of the sofa, a chair had been pushed back haphazardly, as if its occupant had left in a hurry, and a datapad with a cracked screen was half-hidden on the floor beneath the desk.

Fuck. His quarry had fled. How could they have known he was coming?

He tried the central console, but the system was unresponsive and he caught the acrid smell of burned electronics. Frowning, he tried the datapad instead. The fractured display flickered to life momentarily, revealing a portion of a message:

"… compromised. Leave immediately. Repeat, we are… "

The rest was lost to garbled display of pixels. Compromised? How? The information from the dead slaver's ship had led him down a cold trail that should have been impossible to detect. Unless… unless it hadn't been as cold as he thought. What if he were not the only one on their trail?

Still frowning, he tucked the datapad away to study later and continued his search. The drawers in the desk were unlocked, but their contents had been removed. A door on one side of the room opened into a bedroom - small but also clean and expensively furnished.

The door next to it opened into a high-tech medical lab and holding cell. A portable med bed occupied one side of the room, the restraints retracted. One glance at the damaged monitor showed there was no hope of recovering whatever information it had collected about the occupant of the bed.

As he turned to leave, he caught the faint trace of an unfamiliar scent, a lingering sweetness completely out of place amongst both the sterility of the lab and the decay of the surrounding station. He took a deep breath, seeking more of the scent but it remained stubbornly elusive. Had there been a captive here only a short time ago?

Annoyed that he could have come so close without success, he continued his search before finally admitting to himself that the slavers hadn't left any clues behind. Which meant he was back to combing through the records on the data drive, searching for another lead.

During his search he'd discovered a dimly lit corridor behind a concealed panel. It led away from the hub and he decided to follow it back to his ship, avoiding the traps he'd previously encountered. As he rounded a corner, a flicker of movement up ahead caught his attention. His hand on his dagger, he pressed himself against the wall, blending into the darkness. A small, hunched figure shuffled into view, muttering to himself.

His eyes narrowed. What was a Ssst doing here? They were a notoriously reclusive race and rarely left their home planet. This male was old, his skin wrinkled and his clothing shabby and worn. Harmless enough, if out of place, but Wraith remained cautious. In his line of work, he frequently found that appearances could be deceptive.

He stepped out of the shadows, looming over the elderly male. The creature let out a startled yelp, stumbling backward and cowering against the opposite wall.

"P-please, sir," he whimpered, his voice quavering. "Don't hurt me. I-I'm just the cleaner."

He studied the trembling figure, not entirely sure he believed the frightened facade, although there was no obvious reason to doubt the male.

"Cleaner?" He cast a skeptical look at the rust streaking the walls surrounding them. "Not a very good one apparently."

The old male wrung his hands together.

"I'm sorry, sir. There's no one to help me."

"You're alone on the station?"

"Yes, sir."

"There were others here. Where did they go?"

The Ssst's eyes darted left and right, as if searching for an escape.

"I-I don't know anything, sir. They paid me to keep quiet. Said they'd kill me if I talked."

He took a step closer, his voice low and menacing.

"And what do you think I'll do if you don't talk?"

For a fleeting second he thought he saw a defiant look in those faded yellow eyes, but it vanished so quickly he decided he was mistaken. The old male trembled, opening his mouth, then closing it again, caught between two equally terrifying options.

A panicked male was of no use to him, and he decided to soften his approach slightly.

"I won't kill you if you answer my questions and stay out of my way. But I need information."

The old male hesitated a moment longer, then nodded quickly.

"They… they left in a hurry. Said something about a safehouse on Ceres Prime. That's all I know, I swear!"

He considered the information. Ceres Prime was a mining colony on the edge of the system. If he remembered correctly there was little there except the mines, the spaceport, and a few crude towns. He supposed it was as good a place as any to lay low. It wasn't much, but it was a lead.

He turned his attention back to the trembling male.

"Remember, stay out of my way. If I find out you've lied to me…"

The threat hung in the air, unfinished but unmistakable. The old male nodded frantically, then scurried away down the corridor, leaving Wraith alone to decide on his next move. Ceres Prime was a considerable distance away and he didn't want to make the trip if the old male had been lying. Deciding to check the information against the data drive, he continued back towards the ship.

He'd only gone a short distance when he caught another hint of movement in the shadows. Had the old male lied about being alone? He tensed, ready for any threat, but the figure who emerged from the darkness was far from dangerous. A small Ssst girl, no more than five or six cycles old, hovered just out of reach.

So the old male had lied after all. Under the circumstances, Wraith couldn't blame him. He wouldn't have admitted to the presence of a child either. But why hadn't she remained out of sight? Her wide yellow eyes, luminous in the dim light, were fixed on him with a mixture of fear and… something else. Hope?

For a fleeting moment, he felt a strange sensation in his chest. A memory tried to surface, but he shoved it back down, burying it beneath layers of cold professionalism. He couldn't afford distractions, not now.

"Leave," he commanded, making his voice as sharp and cold as the blade at his hip. "This is no place for a child."

The little girl flinched at his tone but despite her obvious fear she stood her ground. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air, and then she beckoned to him. When he didn't move, she gestured again, more urgently this time.

He frowned. His first instinct was to ignore her and continue on his mission, but something in her eyes made him hesitate.

The child glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. She took a step backwards, then another, her hand still outstretched in invitation. Then, without warning, she turned and scurried into the darkness.

He cursed under his breath. He knew he should let her go, focus on finding the slavers, but his feet were already moving, following the small figure as she disappeared around a corner.

He pursued her through the labyrinthine corridors of the station, his footsteps silent despite his haste. The little girl was quick, darting through shadows and squeezing through gaps he had to go around. She led him deeper into the bowels of the station, to areas that looked even more abandoned than those he'd passed through previously.

His senses remained on high alert as he followed her, half-expecting to encounter a trap of some kind, but his concerns were groundless. He followed her without incident until she finally came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a sealed door, glancing back at him with those wide, imploring eyes. He joined her cautiously, scanning for hidden security measures as the door opened with a reluctant groan.

The child darted inside. His hand resting on the hilt of his weapon, he followed her into a small cluttered space, then froze.

A human female stood in the center of the room. She was small, with slender curves and warm hazel eyes. Her chestnut hair fell in gentle waves around her face. She was undeniably beautiful, but it was her behavior that arrested his attention.

Despite the fear evident in her trembling hands and wide eyes, she placed herself squarely between Wraith and the Ssst child. Her chin lifted defiantly, a protective fire burning in her gaze.

"Stay back," she warned, her voice surprisingly steady. "I won't let you hurt her."

He felt something stir within him, an unfamiliar sensation he couldn't quite name, but he quickly pushed it aside. She had to have been one of the females targeted by the slavers, yet she hadn't hesitated to defend a child. Her courage intrigued him and he had the oddest impulse to reassure her. Annoyed at his reaction to her, he raised a mocking brow.

"What a brave little female. But if I meant her harm, how exactly would you stop me?"

"I don't know," she admitted, surprising him again with her honesty. "But I'd do the best I could."

Before he could respond, the little girl tugged on the female's sleeve.

"He told grandfather he's looking for the slavers. I think he can help us."

The female's eyes narrowed, studying him.

"Are you… are you here to help?"

He hesitated. His job was to track down the slavers, not to come to the assistance of an unknown female. Yet he found himself nodding, unable to look away from those earnest hazel eyes. Only because she could be useful, he told himself quickly.

"Oh, thank you," she said, her posture relaxing slightly. "I'm Willow and this is Sooni."

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before inclining his head slightly.

"You may call me Wraith. What are you -"

The door groaned open again and he whirled, his hand on his weapon. The elderly Ssst male entered, but he walked briskly, his head upright and his eyes alert. His meek, submissive behavior had completely vanished. The change in his attitude and bearing was so unexpected, and so different, that Wraith didn't almost didn't recognize him at first.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the older male demanded.

His hand tightened on his weapon, annoyed both by the peremptory tone and the fact that the male had fooled him so successfully, but he simply raised a brow.

"You should ask your granddaughter."

"He's going to help us, Grandfather," Sooni said eagerly, and he realized that she too seemed different - no longer as hesitant and fearful.

"We can't trust -" the old male began, but the little girl gave him an earnest look.

"Yes we can. Scent him."

The Ssst's tongue flicked out, just as the child's had in the tunnel, and then the male relaxed slightly. What the hell was that about? He was aware that the Ssst carried scent receptacles in their tongues, but it seemed somewhat extreme to trust him based purely on how he smelled. Especially since he did everything possible to disguise his own natural scent.

"Can you get the three of us off the station?" Willow asked hopefully.

While he was prepared to take her along, he wasn't sure that he was willing to take on any additional passengers. Before he could respond, the old male shook his head.

"No. We're not leaving."

"Why not, Malacar?" she asked gently. "You know the supplies are almost gone."

"No. This is our home."

The old male clearly wasn't going to budge, which was fine with him.

"Then we shall leave. Come," he ordered, but a stubborn little chin went up.

"No. I'm not leaving without Sooni and Malacar."

"We should go, Grandfather," the little girl urged, but the old male shook his head again.

"This is our home, child. And we'll be able to trade for supplies when the Fleet arrives."

"The Fleet?" he asked sharply. "They are coming here?"

"That's what we heard them say." Willow gave him an anxious look. "Is that a problem?"

His business was exactly illegal, but he'd never been too concerned about staying on the right side of the law either - and he had acquired a certain… reputation over the years. Since he had no desire to explain his current activities to some arrogant Kaisarian commander, it was time to leave.

"If you're coming, come now."

Both females looked at Malacar, but his stubborn look didn't change. Fuck. They didn't have time for this. He pulled a small canister out of his belt and sprayed a quick puff in the old male's face. Malacar crumpled to the ground.