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  He had the makings of a good partner, dependable and not easily rattled, which to be honest, were the primary requirements for working with Pherral. Unpredictability was a constant state.

  “Feeling okay?” He looked stiff, not as if he’d just been released from medical.

  “A bit sore.” Krax stretched his neck, cracking it, and rolled his shoulders. “They’re not as generous with the nerve destruction and axon therapy. Wouldn’t mind getting a thorough scan when we’re done here.”

  Pherral frowned. “Yeah, I have some excellent contacts.” SPV was a lot of things, but negligent with medical treatments was not one of them. Captain Altamura ran a tight station, streamlined, but top quality all around—like the freaking manacles. Krax shouldn’t still be in pain.

  The panel opened, and in walked a face he never expected to see again.

  Ferrier.

  Fuckstars.

  Followed by both Altamuras. Pherral had a bad feeling about this.

  “Anubis,” began Damien’s father. “I thought we had agreed that these sorts of incidents would cease.” He pulled out a handscreen, tossed it on the table in front of him and sat down.

  Captain Altamura he could handle. The Caurentian lurking beside Damien was another and more pressing issue. Ferrier hadn’t changed in years. If anything, he looked more unyielding and disapproving.

  He mentally pulled himself together and answered. “To be fair, Captain, I am the victim.” Pherral gestured to Krax. “Or rather, my partner is.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw Ferrier stiffen. Another assumption. Oh yes, this would be perfect.

  “Ma’at here was gravely wounded when we were brutally attacked while we were doing nothing more than taking in the atmosphere at The Root.” His chains clanked against the table as he waved his hand for effect.

  “Yes.” Captain Altamura shuffled through screens, finger flying. “One Fraxian, escaped and presently being sought for questioning, and a rather dead Bauman.” Altamura stared at Pherral. “Odd that, a single whisperblade lodge in his throat. Extraordinary marksmanship. You wouldn’t know anything about that, Hasisi.

  Pherral laughed, it had been sols since he’d heard the archaic term. Caurentia did employ dramatics when referring to isolated groups. Assassin. Not wrong, but not correct, either. Pherral would have to be operating in Caurentian space or on behalf of Caurentia for that term to apply. It seemed someone had been telling tales.

  Ferrier avidly watched the proceedings; his eyes skimming back to Damien more frequently than mere surveillance. It was then Pherral noticed the cuff on Damien. His eyes ricocheted back to Ferrier, a wide smile cut across that smug face. Ferrier had made a claim.

  “Rumors are unreliable, Captain.” Or in Ferrier’s case, nonexistent. He’d have to track down information on this new development. While Pherral didn’t like to involve himself in Caurentian matters, being aware of pertinent issues and changes were critical to navigating the gray space he inhabited.

  “I thought you might deflect as such. I’d introduce you, but I believe you already know Captain Hayden Ferrier of the Nautilus-class Rebellion. He’s told me some very interesting things.”

  Arrogant ass. Ferrier was meddling in affairs that did not belong to him. This was rapidly mushrooming, and even the hint of Caurentia and its elements being brought to bear on Pherral’s affairs were unacceptable.

  “We are acquainted.”

  Altamura set down the screen. “The intimation was that your lines were far more entwined than mere acquaintance. My sources are rarely wrong.” He turned to Ferrier. “Hayden, I thought you said Anubis had been decreed as your subordinate before he abdicated Caurentia.”

  “NO!” roared Pherral as he lurched out of his chair, the chains halting him halfway. As if. Seething, he glared at Ferrier, whispering, “Never.”

  The table rattled. Krax was worrying his arms trying to break free of the shackles, his eyes begging Pherral. Krax’s concern calmed Pherral, deescalating his spiraling emotions. He had allowed Altamura and Ferrier to throw him off, but Krax’s interruption was well timed and ensured their gambit’s failure. Pherral nodded a reassurance at Krax and sat down again.

  “Your sources exaggerate for their own profit.” He smirked at Ferrier. “Vows were drafted, but not enacted. They are void and invalid.” Pherral looked to Damien, pointedly staring at his cuff. “I’d be careful with Captain Ferrier. He pushes the boundaries of decorum and takes advantage when available.

  Damien tugged at his cuff.

  “Perhaps you already know that.”

  A hand grabbed his hair and yanked it back. Ferrier growled. “Your words are lies. Your honor compromised.”

  Pherral’s head snapped with the slap. A weak backhand, Ferrier still thought of him as the delicate one. Fool.

  Pherral laughed. Ferrier thought he could humiliate him? As if any words he spoke would matter. And it did exactly what he wanted; Ferrier raised his fist.

  Krax kicked at the table, shouting at them. Altamura just watched. It was Damien who pulled Ferrier back, wrestling him away from Pherral as Krax continued to try and break loose.

  Broken whispers and Damien’s crooning were barely audible.

  “Stop. I’m fine, Ma’at.” His gladiator was incensed and attempting to tear himself free. “Nothing’s happening here but an amateurishly conceived drama.” Krax was in pain, and this ridiculousness was just exacerbating it. Pherral was ending this—now.

  “What do you want, Altamura?” Idle threats and a few slaps were nothing. Pherral was beginning to doubt SPV’s stratagem. While Pherral was not aligned with any organization, he had been a dependable if occasionally troublesome client and producer for Altamura. He had done many things the Galactic Commerce Commission would not have approved, and while Pherral knew he wasn’t SPV’s only asset for acquiring contraband, he was a trusted one. Something was off about this entire interaction.

  “And if you expect cooperation, you’d better reconsider the restraints. My partner has already been wounded on your station, anything further and I’ll hold you responsible for damages.”

  There was a flurry of unspoken communications between Altamura, Damien, and Ferrier. Bemused, Pherral watched the hesitant confusion with a growing unease. He waited, and waited.

  Against his better judgment, Pherral broke the stalemate. “If you don’t want help, what are we all doing here? A little more crowded than our usual routine, Captain.”

  Damien and Ferrier shifted back to stand behind the station commander. Apparently, Damien had powers Pherral would never have suspected. Then again, Ferrier’s status would never progress beyond its current level unless he aligned. The highest tiers of Caurentian society were reserved for the bonded.

  Altamura swore under his breath. “You always make things more difficult, Anubis.” The commander looked tired, as if he’d had a few too many late nights and not for the right reasons.

  Pherral shrugged. “The Root was not my doing.”

  “That’s what concerns me,” Altamura said. “Its irregularity is disturbing. Before we go further, I need to know what happened. Truthfully, Anubis, none of your games.”

  Pherral rattled his chains. The ridiculousness of them annoyed him. This was not conducive to a successful working relationship. Whatever had Altamura worried was making him question his fundamental assumptions. Not good.

  Altamura shook his head. “Answer first.”

  He weighed whether or not delaying his statement was worth it. He’d have to enter something into record. Was frustrating Altamura going to gain Pherral anything? Unlikely.

  “It seems I’ve attracted a fan or two over the years. As I stated, Ma’at and I were unwinding at the Root when two rogue agents launched a tactical assault. Ma’at stepped in front of the first attack and was wounded. I was able to neutralize the second agent just as he fired. The Bauman fell where you found him, and the second agent relayed a private message prior to departing.”

  “W
hich was?” prompted Altamura.

  Ferrier watched keenly.

  “Personal,” Pherral replied.

  Damien sighed and grabbed a hold of Ferrier’s wrist. Ferrier glared at Pherral like he’d prefer to launch himself over the table and throttle Pherral—again. Pherral just smirked. Pissing Ferrier off was the most fun this encounter offered.

  Altamura shook his head. “Not good enough, Anubis. There are unusual events happening lately and I need to know if your attackers are somehow tied into the general unrest recently discovered.”

  “What unrest?”

  “You tell me, and I’ll tell you.”

  The air lay heavy in the room, tension strung across it in taut lines stringing across it, every breath vibrating them. Waiting. Altamura was fighting something or someone and it was severe enough to concern him. While Damien and Ferrier looked close to becoming unhinged. A wrongness permeated SPV. A little quid quo pro was not the worst plan. Pherral decided to skate along the edge to ascertain the issues at play.

  “The message was related to a recent job. There might be complications, but we won’t be here long enough for SPV to become embroiled in theoretical loose ends. And that’s what they are, right now, nothing more than cryptic words.”

  “If you’re not going to tell me what the agent said, can you tell me about the job?” Altamura inquired.

  “No.” Pherral’s discretion was his golden point, his entire reputation rested on the fact that no one ever knew, and that’s the way it would be. No compromise.

  Altamura nodded. They’d been down these questions before. “Can I ask the location, or species, involved in either the job or message?”

  Location was impossible, but why was Altamura interested in species? This was an odd trajectory for his questioning. Something was very amiss.

  “The agents were unaligned, a Bauman and a Fraxian.”

  All three looked startled at the revelation, glancing from one to the next.

  “You’re certain?” asked Altamura.

  “Perfectly.”

  Ferrier leaned on the table, looming over. “How do you know the Fraxian was unaligned?”

  No aligned partner would leave without a care for his dead. Pherral leaned back and smiled. “Experience.”

  Ferrier growled. “You insolent—”

  Altamura cut him off. “You are absolutely certain he was not affiliated with the Taraxicum?”

  “No doubt. He was starflung if I’ve ever seen one.”

  The Fraxians were divided into three groups: the Sun, the Moon and the Stars. Those who were stationed with the motherworld ship, the Taraxicum, were categorized as Sun. Those who orbited in and out of communication with the Taraxicum were designated as Moon. Lastly, when the Fraxians were fleeing their dying homeworld, just as their sun went supernova, there were a subset who dispersed, were separated from the Taraxicum never to reunite again—these were the Stars.

  Altamura motioned and Damien went to the panel entering a command. A guard entered and immediately unlocked Pherral; he rubbed his arms while Krax was released. The guard stationed himself beside Altamura.

  “I trust that you’ll accept this show of goodwill and refrain from physical altercations.” Altamura also looked to Ferrier, who glared back at Pherral unrepentantly.

  Krax rose stiffly from his chair and to Pherral’s left. A battle of stares began between Ferrier and he. Altamura shook his head, and the guard kept a hand on his weapon.

  “I have no grievance with SPV or its crew,” said Pherral. After all these sols it should be evident, but present circumstance called for a renewal of their precepts of interaction. “I will always reserve the right to defend myself and my partner.”

  “Noted, but let’s not allow it to devolve, shall we?” Altamura flipped through a few screens and turned the display so Pherral could view it. “Do you recognize any of these Fraxians?”

  It was a rather large crew, probably for a Nautilus-class vessel. It was the only Fraxian ship that required so many personnel. Unless it was a pleasure cruise, but no, none of those pictured were pretty enough. The captain looked vaguely familiar; Pherral might have seen him in passing, but he’d never spoken with him.

  “Large crew, merchant transport from the looks of them. But no, I’ve never met any of them.”

  “Are you certain? Look again.”

  Altamura’s earnestness persuaded Pherral to review the vidclips. “Other than the feeling I might have seen the captain from afar, I have no information. They are unremarkable.”

  Altamura grabbed the screen and scrolled through, stopping on a larger image of the Fraxian captain. “Do you recall anything? Perhaps where you saw Capt. Akros.”

  “Akros…” Pherral hummed. “What vessel?”

  “Silken Caravan,” replied Damien.

  Silken Caravan he remembered, a Nautilus-class vessel belonging to a senior Moon colony member. Akros was less familiar; maybe they passed each other in a docking bay. Fraxians were not ones to linger or enjoy a port’s offerings; they got in, traded, and departed as soon as resupplying was complete.

  “The ship I recall, but Akros, either he’s been altered or the Silken Caravan changed captains.”

  “Where? Where have you seen it?” Damien pressed. All three were tense.

  “I’m not really sure. Nowhere near here.” And not recently either, it was some years ago. Damien would have been much younger because it was before his presentation, seven or eight sols prior. “In fact, yes, the last time I saw the Silken Caravan, we were docked in the same bay on Kurabyss.”

  Talk about questionable places. Pherral’s work took him everywhere, but even he was sure to be appropriately armed while on Kurabyss. It made places like Crater Base Delta 54 look congenial and well mannered by comparison.

  “Were they delivering or picking up shipment?” inquired Ferrier.

  Pherral considered ignoring him, but the desperate way both Altamuras hung on, waiting, made him answer. What was this information worth? A few concessions, at least.

  Pherral deliberately looked at Altamura. “As fortune would have it, our paths crossed just as the Silken Caravan was submitting their manifest. I witnessed the transfer of promissory note.”

  “But it wasn’t Akros?” asked Altamura

  Pherral glanced down at the image of the Fraxian captain, again. “Not unless he underwent extensive facial restructuring.” He shrugged; he had little else to offer. “I didn’t linger long enough to hear any communications.”

  Altamura seemed disappointed, and even more tired. Nonetheless, he said thanked Pherral. A little information was due in return. Pherral looked pointedly at the station commander. If SPV was involved in a political struggle, he needed to know so he could arrange another drop-off site for his clients.

  “Fair’s fair. What unrest, Altamura?”

  Damien shifted uneasily as his father began. “Events are still unfolding, but investigators uncovered disturbing issues with a recent Fraxian cargo shipment.”

  Vague, but not completely devoid of data. Pherral admired Altamura’s ability to give a seemingly thorough answer with few details.

  “I doubt our events are correlated. What were they smuggling?”

  Altamura smiled. Did he really think Pherral was that stupid that he couldn’t connect the dots.

  “Lifeforms.”

  “Humans?” Pherral pressed for more. Easier than Baumen, if not as profitable.

  “No.” Altamura looked down, clearly second-guessing himself and then continued, “What do you know of the Hetaerae?”

  Chapter 7

  If Krax hadn’t briefly taken his eyes off Ferrier he never would have seen it. At the commander’s words, Pherral leaned back nonchalantly, but his spine was rigid. Clearly attempting to affect disinterest, and it just ratcheted up Krax’s tension levels.

  Hetaerae? What had the SPV and Altamura gotten involved in?

  Crater Base Delta 54 was a small asteroid in the middle of nowhere. It was no
thing more than a burnt-out mining colony that hosted one of the most prestigious gladiatorial arenas in this quadrant of the galaxy. It was small, with little to recommend it except for wagering and spectator violence. Even there, Krax knew what Hetaerae were, or maybe because of it. Oversight was nonexistent, and any place that dealt in lives as nothing more than trading chips, whether it was for death or the sex trade tended to congregate together.

  No one looked at him, and that was just fine with Krax. He was more than happy to let Pherral deal with Altamura. Being the stupid one had its advantages, and he wasn’t inclined to discard any upper hand in this situation.

  “Hetaerae. Commander Altamura, you do have your hands full, don’t you?” said Pherral.

  Altamura was getting more exasperated. “Clearly you know something. The logs are blank. There’s a whole species that no one’s bother to enter into the database. Tell me what you know.

  “Lives are at stake, Anubis!” Damien shouted, slamming his fist onto the table.

  Pherral looked up, behind Altamura to Ferrier. “And the good captain had nothing to share?”

  Ferrier looked like he wanted to rip Pherral throat out, but answered. “My information is limited. Those of us who adhere to both Caurentian and GCC regulations—“

  Pherral laughed, interrupting him. “Both?” He raised his brow in mockery. “As if. But please, continue.”

  Ferrier clenched his jaw, brushing Damien’s hand off his arm. “As I was saying, other than a singular instance at a Commerce convention where a harem was providing entertainment, I’ve not been acquainted with the Hetaerae.”

  Entertainment. That was a broad description of the services they were engaged in.

  “They were mature?” asked Pherral.

  “One, yes, and unbonded.”

  Pherral nodded. “I assume you know the consequences of their predicament, then.”

  “The biological imperative was explained.” Altamura was uneasy and Damien looked distraught. Good to see that SPV was not involved in the trade.

  “Infieri is debilitating. I’ve seen collared younglings set loose in various marketplaces, often less desirable venues, and collected later. Those that presented were sold to a variety of pleasure vendors, from luxury cruisers to mining colonies,” explained Pherral.