But like I told Saedii, I can’t just send a random warning and hope for the best. I have to get aboard without getting caught and shot so I can warn Adams directly about the threat to it.
The only way I can send him something that won’t be intercepted is via the academy system, to his private number. Anything else, there’s at least one person between me and him, and probably more.
There’s only one way I see myself pulling this off.
“Should call her, Earthboi.”
I glance at the seat beside me, see a feline humanoid sitting where nobody was a moment ago. Takka’s got sneak, I’ll give him that.
He peers up at me with slitted golden eyes, whiskers twitching. He’s dressed the same as when I scoped him out yesterday—a big-shouldered suit black as his fur, lifts in his bulky shoes. I’ve never met a gremp with short-man syndrome before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess. He’s chewing a bright blue stick of Rush, his teeth discolored from the saccharine and stims.
“What?” I ask.
He nods to the number on the coaster. “Girrrrrl,” he purrs. “She pretty. Should enjoy last night before you dying.”
“You pulled it off?”
He sneers, rolling the Rush back and forth across his jagged teeth with a rough pink tongue. “Tell you, Earthboi. Takka people who know people.”
“What’s the deal?”
He lowers his voice to appropriately conspiratorial levels, looks around the bar. “Ice freighter. Passing two thousand LY shy of Aurora FoldGate.”
“Two thousand light-years?” I frown. “What good is that?”
“Closer than now,” Takka shrugs. “Sure with motivation, captain could get closer. Speaking of …” He glances down at my coat, rubs his fingers together. “Paypay.”
“You don’t get paid till I’m on board.” I glower. “And I want to meet this captain of yours before I sign on.”
“Funny. Said same ’bout you.” Takka crunches the Rush between his teeth, shivering. “But Takka not taking Earthboi nowhere without paypay.”
With a sigh, I reach into my coat for the credstick, press my thumb onto the ident sensor to unlock the funds. Takka grabs it with clawed fingers, but I hold tight, staring into his eyes. “Half now. Half if I sign up.”
One ear twitches. “Real distrusting nature, Earthboi.”
“I’m a master criminal, remember?”
Takka sneers, taps his stick to mine for the transfer, and slides off his chair. I follow him through the crowd, out into the station corridors, drawing my hood down around my face. It’s sleep cycle on the station clock, so the lighting is dim, but the transit tube we ride in is still packed, Takka obviously displeased at his crotch-eye view as we’re jammed in like ration packs.
We offload in a quiet section of the docks, spilling out with a group of long-haulers. It’s quieter down here, Takka leading me through the landing bays, chattering about a tip he got on the upcoming heavyweight GMA match, easy paypay, blah blah. But my eyes are on the shadows around me, heartbeat running quicker as I grip the Syldrathi pulse pistol in my coat pocket.
I’m suddenly aware how far from home I am.
Things go bad here, they go bad all the way.
“Which ship is it?” I ask.
“Up here,” the gremp nods. “D Bay.”
A long transparent window of plasteel looks out on the ships berthed below, all models and makes. But there’s a small mountain of freight between us and Bay D. Glancing around, I realize even for late night, this place is awfully quiet. A few loader drones. But no sec patrol or dock crews.
“What’s the ship called?” I ask, scanning a glowing manifest on the wall.
“No name, Earthboi.” Takka looks over his shoulder. “Ident AL-303.”
My heart drops in my chest. Hand tightening on my pistol.
“That’s not an ice freighter. That’s a Legion designation.”
The curve of our corridor straightens out, and I grind to a stop. Behind the dull gray mountain of freight boxes, I catch the edge of a Longbow hull—long, speartip-shaped, gleaming white against the station’s gunmetal skin. And emblazoned down its flank, I see the burning star of the Aurora Legion.
“Freeze.”
The voice comes from behind me, accompanied by the hum of a disruptor rifle. From the weapon’s tone, I can tell it’s set somewhere between Pacify and Kill. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a tall Syldrathi male, silver hair in five braids, sharp violet eyes. He’s wearing a Legion uniform, green stripes on his shoulders tell me he’s a science specialist, the twin circles on his brow denoting one of the Weaver Cabal. The Tank looming beside him is a big Betraskan, broad-shouldered, with dark blue contacts over his eyes.