Thedus' mercenary trade point was busy, boiling with frantic energy, like an anthill.
Those locations were like a farmers' market of the organized criminal groups - mafia if you will. It was also the best place for networking and job hunting if you are inclined to make a living in the underground economy landscape.
Newcomers into the underground circles would usually find trade points quite tame. At a first glance, most of the open trading could be also found in neighborhoods with high criminal activity. One could almost read in the rookies' eyes 'Where are the slaves, the big guns, the alien fauna?'
Hidden, of course.
Hierarchy and access to organized crime societies were anything but simple. Most regular people who walked away from a straight life into the underworld were probably expecting a landscape with more possibilities, more access, hierarchy mobility. In other words: dreaming of a land where carving a place for oneself was easier.
But that was all it was. A dream. Nothing about the underworld was fair, democratic, equalitarian or easy.
What they found: a harsher, predatory, authoritarian reality. Life expectancy of your garden-variety-mercenary would not surpass 45 years old. And barely zero prospects of retirement.
(Very few people were ever able to successfully escape the shadows of the underworld after setting foot on it).
But the cash made up for it. Or most of it anyways. For a good portion of the new arrivals, money was a thrilling high, and they would ride it for years. The illusion of power, of freedom, of success that money would impress upon rookies, is the exact reason that keeps more coming.
(Sure, there's also the adrenaline fix).
On another hand, inequality and stability had different contours. For the underworld, you are who you know. And if who you know goes down, better cover your ass, because you are next on the hit list.
(For similar reasons, being a social butterfly was really good for business. A good portion of Brokers had a close relationship with lobbyists, and some were lobbyists themselves. Charlie's alcoholism started a "social drinking thing", but when you are socializing every night, things might get out of hand).
And Fer-de-Lance was fairly aware of how things worked in mafia circles. If the ship hauling Charlie's package was also transporting organic products, he sure had some big stuff happening. And was willing to entrust her better contracts now.
Sounds like success right? For Lance and her team, sure. But what about Charlie?
After the successful raid at Cardinalis' market, all activities concentrated there were dispersed to other trade points. Moreover, a vacuum of power emerged on all levels, due to the number of people who lost their lives.
Tragedy and catastrophe weren't strong enough to stop the black market engines. Hell, if the apocalypse took place today, tomorrow people would be going back to business. Nothing could prevent the mafia to trade and make money.
In regular circumstances, most big clients and 'businessmen' would not risk their luck with unknown brokers and suppliers. However… Crisis and opportunity walk hand in hand, and Charlie was making a grab for it.
Poor Charlie, he would probably be the cause of his own ruin. The broker knew how the drug market worked very well and was quite knowledgeable about the ins and outs of negotiating and transporting such products: what to expect, which gangs were looking for what, a bunch of crooked law enforcement agents, good routes. But didn't have the discipline, the allies, or the contacts to venture into dangerous waters and stay afloat for long.
"Barbie darling, my boys said you are a decent hand. Interested in doing more security jobs for me?"
Barbara preferred to stay standing after being invited to sit. She was the type to not give many liberties to people, and would not touch or get too close to anyone. But did she want money? Yes, (fake) Barbara had to come across as the greedy type for Lance's charade be sustained.
'Sure thing, Charlie. What do you have for me?", if she sounded interested, is because she truly was. Barbara on the money, Lance on what Charlie had in hand (and how she would use it to advance her efforts).
"Delivery and pick up later this week", he said simply.
"Two contracts? On the same go?", Lance fought hard not to raise an eyebrow. Charlie was probably pocketing a bigger commission forcing a group to run two consecutive jobs.
Man, and here I thought tit would take more time for you to slip. Oh, Charlie…
Nothing wrong with such practices if you had a tight and reliable crew. But offering that for a pickup group?
"I still have some errands to run for you. I don't think I would be your best option", she offered, and it was not a lie. The trick for keeping big lies alive (and thriving) was to feed them with as much truth as you could.
"Why not Barbs?", the undercut on his tone was proof that Charlie was indeed an underworld broker.
"Lack of sleep and convoys don't mix well", her tone was flat.
Charlie was not convinced.
"Are you kidding me? Take something, kid", he sounded unimpressed. He was in the drug business after all (hell, if she asked, he would probably give her a crash course about stimulants and what she could shoot to stay awake 48 hours, nonstop).
"Charlie, I will let you in on a little secret. I can pass any pee and blood tests port authorities throw my way", Barbara grinned at him.
"You motherfucker. That's how you can make it back so fast", he looked surprised, almost not believing her.
"Oh, yeah. I'm fully vaccinated, too", still grinning.
You see, colonized systems at the periphery of human domains had somewhat lax standards, but Spacebrige and Transport Terminals linking cities in colonies were another matter. The personnel responsible for transportation security was authorized to search, question, and test people for any kind of substance and disease. They could detain, prevent boarding, make arrests. Oh man, they could even quarantine you.
And that would be logged directly into a criminal record. So yeah, mercs who would not pass a measle pee test would use private or illegal ways for traveling long distances.
Barbara would never use common transportation while carrying a package. But anything was preventing her from picking the most convenient methods to go back to the city.
"And you are telling me this now?", the sharpness in his undertone revealed outrage.
"I'm not willing to accept contracts that will make me travel for weeks. And you are not a man who takes kindly to refusal", she quipped.
The old dude grumbled.
"No, I suppose not", he didn't look any less unhappy, but the gentle ego stroke served its purpose, redirecting the broker.
"And I do have other stuff for you" he took a tablet, taking a minute to retrieve a set of files. Once those were displayed on the screen, he handed the device to Barbara.
"You better not say no to this one", the warning in his tone was clear. He would stop contracting with her otherwise.
"Security for...", the Girl furrowed her brows. "Cecily Evans?" she mumbled while reading the rest.
"For the next fortnight, yes. You start in 3 days. I will send you a detailed briefing tomorrow".
"Just me?", Barbara handed the device back.
"Yes."
"Count me in", her tone still flat.
Charlie placed the tablet beside his whiskey glass.
"Barbara, this better be the last time you keep this kind of stuff from me", the veiled threat was not so veiled. He even used her actual name!
Another thing about the underworld: even the old, goofy drunken people had a predatory streak.
"Sure thing, Charlie".
Sure thing.
XXX
The Girl had a few days to finalize the remaining deliveries and acquire equipment and other stuff needed for her next job.
Who would have thought I would need one of these this time, she pondered while trying a nice pair of stilettos in a thrift shop.
"Gosh, I barely remember how to walk with those things" Lance mumbled to herself, walking around in heels.
Formal clothes, dresses, some nice shoes, and boots. A pair of earrings. Lance was prepared for all occasions. There were a couple of events that she would be required to blend in (as in "go unnoticed by the public unless the situation requires intervention").
On the bright side, the client was paying for all expenses. The Girl was low-key looking forward to a decent bath and room service.
XXX
Ho'kan was in the command deck at the Ah'kaedh's ship. Trying not to think too much about the last 2 hours.
The medic had warned the Young Blood about Ah'Kaedh's temper, but the kid had only dealt with a remote and cold Enforcer, who wasted no time with superfluous efforts (which included polite conversation). Ah'kaedh was hard to engage, and Ho'kan was more than happy to leave him alone.
The Kid heard the soft sound the deck's door made while opening. He turned in his chair to see the Medic walk in. The older Yautja was using his biomask, wrist gauntlet, dressed with the typical loin cloths and net.
He had the aspect of any other hunter (and in fact, once upon a time, he made his way across the stars, collecting skulls and spines), but all his equipment was repurposed and programmed to assist his current designation.
"Ho'kan, do you have a minute?", it was a polite way to let the Young Blood know it was time to check him up.
The kid had come a long way. Upon his rescue, it was discovered that he suffered from 2 different maladies, plus malnutrition, and had a series of infected injuries.
Since Ah'kaedh had granted the kid's wish to join him, the Enforcer requested the presence of a medic, to not delay their departure (trails are better fresh).
The kid followed the older Yautja to the medical bay. Two beheaded male oomans bodies rested over one large table. Both were laying on their bellies, and Ho'kan could see they also missed their spines.
The medic had taken the opportunity to indulge his curiosities by exploring the alien physiology: there were clamps, forceps, and some other medical paraphernalia around the corpses.
"Didn't need incisions to start dissecting them", the Medic pointed out, after noticing Ho'kan inspecting his work.
"So much red", the Kid mumbled, inspecting their insides closely.
"I imagine there will be some female specimens to analyze later", the older Yautja noted.
Ho'kan couldn't help but compare both brothers. Ah'kaedh was stoic, remote, of difficult coexistence. Lar'jar was laid back, easy to engage. If not for the striking resemblance, he would not believe they were born and raised by the same mother.
"He is only keeping 2 oomans alive", answered the young one.
XXX
Ah'kaedh was showering, scrubbing off the violence and gore from earlier.
The cool water had a sobering effect, forcing him to stay in the present moment. Once there was no more red running down to his feet, he sat down, legs crossed, taking off the prosthetics.
His arm had a bioware piece embedded in what was left below the elbow that worked as a socket. It was fixed into his muscles and bone. The bioware technology connected to his nerves and flesh allowed him full motor control and decent sensory awareness. Each new arm piece required both learning and adaptation processes, while his brain carved new synaptic pathways, transforming experience in muscle memory.
It felt like learning to walk, over and over again. Ah'kaedh had to pour generous amounts of dedication and effort to get to a place where he could do things without thinking about them.
The memories around his escape were foggy and faulty. The Enforcer knew very well that some could even be fabrications of his mind. He had clear recollections until the moment he stepped outside his enclosure. After that…
Ah'kaedh threw his head back, allowing the cold water to run directly across his face.
The next clear and reliable memory was of the metallic structures of the abandoned proto-community. He was eating dried rations, stored in a series of bags. He could remember clearly the texture, flavor, and smell of his meal. The dull pain on his left upper limb. The stank that hung around the place - corpses and ooman filth.
The Hunter pushed his mind, trying to picture the Girl: all white garments, cap covering the top of her head, long coat, simple shoes. All the staff members in that damned facility wore the exact same clothes. Used similar devices.
But his Girl would show him her face, rip off her gloves after tending to his injuries. Talk to him.
Ah'kaedh straightened his spine, glancing down at his body. He was fairly scarred by the time of his imprisonment, but the incisions made by his jailers had wildly different aspects than the ones acquired hunting. Ironically, the Girl took such care of his body, that there was barely a trail of her work. Yautjas' scaly skin had a tendency to eliminate minor scars after some years since their scales would be shedding their outer layers. But incisions previous to her arrival could still be seen. Another century and more scars would fade away. But the largest and cruelest ones (and those he had plenty) would stay forever.
And each time he looked at any of those marks, he would see her: the creamy skin, the low stature, the white garments, the gray gaze. Hear her voice, high pitched. Ah'kaed could even evoke the memory of her scent.
He allowed the old feelings of failure to wash over him and be gone, before pushing his mind further. For years, decades even, he pursued a faint trail. Breadcrumbs. In the end, those had already been eaten by crows, upon his recovery.
No use fighting the truth. Ah'kaedh failed in his hunt.
After the first years, the Hunter came to study the Girl's species in depth. General knowledge would not help - the Hunter understood that age progression upon a short-lived species had a good influence on their choices and possibilities. On their behavior. On their health.
The Hunter was not sure about the Girl's activities, but one thing was clear: she had some sort of combat or tactical training. Oomans had a variety of security and military organizations, after all. She could have been even a mercenary.
Another thing Ah'kaedh knew: age was not kind to any species, but oomans had a tendency to decline fast past certain stages. The girl was sexually mature when they crossed paths, and could not be too young, since she seemed specialized and well-trained.
Taking a deep breath, he allowed his eyes to unfocus, freeing his mind.
As if dragged by enchantment, his mind wandered over the uncertain mists of his scrambled recollections of the day they parted ways.
I want you to live, if you stay, you will kill us both, and he saw the Girl suffering: there were tears and a quivering voice. She had been pleading. She wanted him safe. And also wanted to stay behind.
I'm not free, the Enforcer shut his eyes. The next memory was an apology, but that had come before her pleading.
Oh, yes. He could remember his resolve faltering. He also knew why. I will be executed for helping you. Is that what you want? Please, go!
The divide he felt… he could experience it all over again. The Hunter should have stayed and was deeply ashamed for not doing so. At the same time, his Girl worked long and exhaustively to offer him a chance to be free. And like all those years ago, Ah'kaedh felt he could not bear her suffering nor deny her wishes.
And definitely, Ah'kaedh could never be the reason for her demise (by the hand of others, at least. She was his prey, Her life was his. His to take if he so wished).
For years, Ah'kaedh felt unsure if taking Her skull and spine was not his end goal. The conflict tearing his mind would often direct his rage toward the memories of the Girl. Those bouts of resentment would later be quenched by longing, and a feeling of loss he never dared to name.
The privilege of hindsight didn't help: from time to time, Ah'kaedh's mind would scream at him - he should have stayed. Dying would be better than this (whatever this was).
You must let go. Move on. Live on, she'd ask him if here, after soothing him.
Another memory: whispers, soft touches with the back of her hand and fingers.
Shh, shh…
(For a time, her mere presence would ground him. But it was not safety he was seeking now. No, not safety…)
Some recollections were difficult to evoke. Ah'kaedh, who had been cold reason most of his life, found himself reaching for feelings. Most times, feelings were the only doorway to the memories of his escape.
Like now. Clear as day, he felt the hurt and despair of recollections he couldn't exactly place nor be sure happened that way:
I don't want to die!
As this uncertain scene started to play out. Ah'kaedh felt like mere a spectator, watching it from above…
"Ah'kaedh", came the even (and now loud) tone of Lar'Jar.
Reality struck like a whiplash.
The medic was in the same vicinity. And Ah'kaedh, who was usually very aware of his surrounding had been blind to his arrival.
"Yes?", Ah'kaedh sounded as remote as any other time. Nothing in the Hunter's voice gave away the storm wrecking his mind.
Not that Lar'Jar needed any other indication of his younger brother's state of mind. The air around Ah'kaedh was dense enough to be cut with a blunt knife.
Ho'kan had not understood at first when the medic cautioned him about the Enforcer's mood swings. Those didn't come in the form of outward displays of rage, destruction, or random aggression. The Hunter wouldn't scream, roar or strike.
Ah'kaedh would ooze violence by each and every pore. As if you suddenly found yourself trapped in a cage with a hungry and mean carnivore.
He had never gratuitously attacked other Yautjas (he was an Enforcer after all), but every hunter was trained to identify exactly that: dangerous predators.
(Like being aware of an imminent attack that never came).
Lar'jar was somewhat used to it, so he didn't feel the instinctive response to be on guard. But it annoyed him, for sure.
"Pondering your next steps?", Lar'Jar asked in his usual and even tone.
"No", it's not like the Medic's little brother would give much to work with.
"Shouldn't you?"
Being reproached made the Hunter bristle, which was exactly what he needed. Ah'kaedh reached blindly for his prosthetic. The soft clicks the piece made by being locked in place also prepared the Hunter for the neurological kickback. The sensorial rush was unpleasant but lasted for mere seconds.
The Enforcer engaged his left hand, testing the responses, per habit.
"Do you need something, Lar'Jar?"
"You kept two females alive. Do you want me to check on them?"
That was not the reason he came looking for his brother, and both knew that.
"Check both for diseases. I need them alive", the Hunter stated the truth. He needed them.
"I ministered a preventive round of medications to the mercenary. The dewormer should make her sick for a couple of days. I would insist on the same treatment for the slave", Lar'Jar advised.
The Medic used to be more dedicated to his patients, but those girls were as good as dead (they could not return the oomans to their people).
Unlike Ah'kaedh, Lar'Jar didn't have any bias towards the species. And even if he was inclined towards mercy, it's not like the slave would be any better if returned - and the other girl was associated with mercenaries. The Medic would have a better chance of convincing Ah'kaedh to cut his right arm off than sparing that one.
XXX
Semi-catatonic, Sila was sitting, naked and trembling, in the far corner of the chamber.
Both Sila and Sabrina had been instructed by the Medic to wash, hand over their clothes, and eat. The mechanical and foreign tone of the translator device in the Yautja biomask surprised Sabrina.
Sila was more than thankful in dealing with this new alien, instead of the other two (a sentiment Sabrina would only share later, after Ah'kaedh's interrogatory).
There was a large cot, probably meant to be shared by both. They had water available and a small adjacent room was the bathroom where they washed. Sabrina dove into the task, but Sila had to be coaxed.
Later Sabrina would try to engage the slave, only to be ignored. There was more than resentment coming from the beautiful girl. She had been shocked into submission.
The dark Yautja came back later. Sabrina watched as he gave the other girl the shots. Sila would not look at him, nor defy his will. Even when, visibly afraid, she allowed him to inspect and apply a gel to her swollen face. Nose and eyes were clearly bruised - Sila had boarded the cargo ship like that.
Later, Sabrina watched the sex slave eat and drink. The beauty looked like forcing everything down but was doing it anyway.
Mercenary-wanna-be felt the typical exhaustion after a severe bout of diarrhea, which accosted both girls. Sabrina suspected the food, but Sila kept eating and drinking.
The dark alien had instructed her to eat and drink. Sabrina suspected she would be punished for disobeying (dehydration was not easily treated if the patient rejected food and water).
The next day, the dark alien shove Sabrina over his shoulders after she refused his request to follow him. "I'm sick. I can't do anything", the girl whined and tried to hide her face with one arm.
No deal.
Left alone in a different room. There was no decoration or much furniture anywhere: everything seemed minimalist and designed for specific purposes. At least that was the case for every deck and room she visited so far.
Sabrina was now sitting, waiting, feeling miserable. With a deep breath, the girl once more vowed that, if allowed to go back home, she would lead a straight, exemplary life.
A soft woosh announced the arrival of the alien crew: they were all very tall, nightmarish strong, with mean features all over. Sabrina could not see their faces, but the scales, talons, the spike-like barbs in their chests…
All 3 dressed the same: net covered their bodies, armored pieces protecting forearms and forelegs, strange metallic-like masks concealed their alien faces (and she prayed it stayed that way).
They exchanged sounds in a low tone - Sabrina could not make a single word or even tell apart their voices. One of the dark aliens (and she could only tell them apart by what were clearly scars and the obvious mechanical arm), approached, standing in front of her. There was a counter between them and chairs for everyone.
The other two were still by the door, relaxed, in silence. Waiting.
Metallic-Arm reached for his mask, removing the piece. Before he could place it over the counter, Sabrina was coughing, choking in her own spit, trying to become small (invisible would be ideal). The guy in the back, the one with green stripes shook his head (if Sabrina were paying any attention, she would have sensed some disgust in his attitude).
She was terrified.
All fantasies of her childhood came rushing back. She was going to die-and-be-devoured-by-monsters-from-outer-space. The coughing carried, but now she was crying too.
"Stop".
That was unmistakably an order. And Sabrina would not dare to disobey if she could get a hold of herself. If.
She tried begging. Mumbling I'm-sorries, please-don't-kill-me-I-will-do-anything, don't-hurt-me, and other cliches of similar nature.
(Ah'kaedh had no patience for pleading).
"Quiet", and this time, there was an abrasive undertone.
Sabrina gulped, coughed another two times, and tried to quit sobbing.
Silence ensued. Ah'kaedh was allowing the girl some time to gather her wits. But silences in his presence were among the most uncomfortable silences anyone could ever experience. Poor Sabrina, her current situation only made it worse.
"Are you able to take me to the exact point where the slaves were taken from?", the alien had a heavy accent (accent?). Some sounds came out accompanied by growls, and others were hissed. Some words (like exact or point) ended abruptly, with a click.
Sabrina could only nod.
"Are you familiar with the planet?"
Shaking her head, she managed to whisper no.
"Did you go down to the planet's surface to pick up the slaves?" this alien had a deep timbre.
Sabrina froze. She wanted to say no, shake her head, cower in a corner, cry for her mother.
Idon'twannadieIdon'twannadieIdon'twannadieIdon'twannadieIdon'twanna…
"Shall I ask the slave?", his tone had not changed at all, but Sabrina felt a pang. Her mind raced, trying to compute how the hell she was going to escape this madness. And for that, she needed to be more valuable than the fucking product she should be hauling back to Cardis IV.
With an emphatic head shake, she tried her voice:
"I… I was there. Yes. Why?"
"Do you know any of the people who were there?"
A nod. Her guts start to wrestle a huge lump that suddenly popped inside her belly.
(But hey, between her and the subcontractors that Sam dropped on Thedus to reinforce the convoy for that damned delivery job? She would choose herself a million times).
"Can you contact them?"
Sabrina only had time to turn to her left before puking her brains out. The crying and pleading came next. The instinct of hiding and becoming small took over, and the disillusioned merc-wanna-be almost toppled over her chair.
A low impatient growl hit Sabrina's ears like a spear. While she tried to collect her thoughts, the girl noticed the other two aliens had left without a sound.
Somehow, that felt worse. Being alone with unmasked-monster felt so much worse.
" I'k… I can. C-conta-ct… Them", answering was better than allowing the silence to linger.
XXX
Back in the shared room, Sabrina finally understood why the slave was so subdued.
Not even her nakedness seemed to matter now. Sabrina was still exhausted, her mind spinning.
Her body had no room left for grief, guilt, or rebellion. Everything fiber of her being was taken by dread, fear, and the survival instinct that had kicked in at full potency. If there was any space left, it was taken by regret (and oh boy, she had true regrets now), resentments (her family for not trying harder, Sam for being a shitty human, the fucking Broker who got them this shitty job), and an unhealthy dose of victim-complex (her impending death had to be someone else's fault).
The former-merc-wanna-be followed the instructions to wash before resting. Laying in their shared cot, looking upon the slave girl, it occurred to her:
If they are using me to go after the subcontractors… What are they using her for?
XXX
After Ho'kan and Lar'Jar retired for the evening, Ah'kaedh reviewed the coordinates acquired on the dropship, studying the region.
He had to maneuver his own ship to stay hidden from oomans' surveillance, and after careful consideration, decided to not release the Cargo Ship just yet. Towing that disgrace behind his ship was not doing any good to the Enforcer's temper, but he planned to use the dropships.
The whole docking process for oomans was still a challenge. Most larger vessels would deck only at Spacebridges, and in the rare occasion a spaceship would touch ground, it was a well-planned affair: the landing was a delicate process, and the ship would also need to a place that could resist the impact taking off would impose. Enter Spaceports, with their massive structures and astronomical maintenance costs. For that reason, most spaceships had internal decks with decking space for at least two dropships.
Smaller and lighter, easier to land and maneuver. Some models can even touch ground without any landing structures. Dropships nowadays are commonly used as a transfer method between ground and outer-space structures (like Spacebriges and Ships).
Sounds brilliant, right? Not for Yautjas, who had better ships, better technology, and didn't need to carve environment disasters (aka Spaceport) on planets' surfaces to facilitate space travel.
Ho'kan had inquired about the decision of using dropships (since, you know, they didn't need it).
"I wish to ambush the remaining crew of the ooman's vessel. It will be a cleaner job if I use their ships", the Enforcer had explained. By cleaner, he meant less violent. Ah'kaedh fully intended to keep some of them alive.
Once the Kid had a complete understanding of the plans, the Medic approached him, asking fewer, but similar questions. That was Lar'Jar subtle way to remind Ah'kaedh that he had bigger fish to catch (as bigger as a handful of Bad Bloods).
Ah'kaedh frustration only grew after his brother left for his quarters. The Enforcer was fully aware he should be focusing his time elsewhere, and yet here he was, studying the surface of that fucking planet.
And both females were barely useful. The slave could work as bait in the right circumstances. As for the quasi-mercenary only function was to contact and attract the rest of her crew.
"Breadcrumbs", the word was barely a murmur. Fucking breadcrumbs.
The fucking wrong kind of fucking breadcrumbs. The slave had described a female as young as herself, but her description of said female was quite generic (and the slave-girl was still dominated by fear, it was useless to press further). Not that it would have mattered. Wrong age equals wrong Girl.
And yet…
Ah'kaedh couldn't bring himself to move on.
As he walked back to his quarters, the recollection of earlier events played in his mind's eye.
Ho'kan was the first to set foot in the small cabin. As expected, the ooman's fear spiked, and the enforcer was still evaluating the slave, when the younger Yautja tapped his shoulder. Once the Enforcer turned to check the Kid, something hit him. Hard.
The Kid had extended him a rag of a dark color, holding it at shoulder height. Ah'kaed took it with a swift movement, taking his mask with the other hand. He went for it with such ferocity that the younger Yautja seemed uncertain of what to do next.
I'm fucking sleeping and this is a fucking nightmare!
Ah'kaedh brought the piece of cloth close to his face and inhaled. Once, twice. He bunched the thing in his hand and sniffed at different angles. Blood and two human signatures.
His head whipped back, his eyes looking for the forgotten girl.
"Where did you find this?", and while he forced his tone to stay flat, red irises burned her very soul.
The slave reacted with shock and fear, gasping and recoiling. Big mistake.
The Enforcer stalked after the crying ooman like a big jungle cat. Crouched in front of her, and repeated, word by word:
"Where. Did. You. Find. This", his voice dropping an octave.
The slave-girl turned away and somehow managed to become even smaller, hugging her legs and hiding her face on her knees. Incomprehensible whines escaped her mouth.
"Louder", he uttered a simple order. The slave flinched as if struck.
"A wo-woman gave me. For m-my bleeding no-nose", it was impossible to not stutter.
"Who. Is. She."
"I… I don't know. I… she just…" a pause. The slave needed to give him something. Anything to make him back away. She was going to pass out otherwise.
"Ba-Barbara. Her name. Barbara."
"Barbara", he echoed. Silently, walked back to the Kid.
"Find lodging for this slave in my ship. I will take care of the rest", Ah'kaedh instructed Ho'kan in their native language, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Tucking the rag in the wrist gauntlet in his right arm, he left the cabin without the next instant, taking long strides to cross the ship, inspecting each cabin. One by one, he questioned and euthanased the remaining slaves. They weren't worth prey, and the Enforcer was not sadistic by nature - each had a swift and almost painless death. The Hunter would have preferred to not have them terrified as he carried his duties, but it couldn't be helped. One look in his direction, and they knew exactly what was coming.
Ah'kaedh left his recollections behind once he set foot inside his own quarters.
The fucking rag was placed on top of the table he used to sort his equipment. It had more blood now. And a hint of his own smell.
But the scent of his Girl still hung on the natural cotton fibers, impossibly fresh. Impossibly Hers.
Am I going mad?
Because there was no other explanation. None. He had never come across two humans who smelled exactly the same.
Besides, there was the age. If his Girl was even alive, she would be elderly now.
He took the piece of cloth in his metallic hand and smelled it. Again. It cut right through his sanity, every damned time he breathed in her scent.
It's been almost 40 ooman years. She's dead. And the more he repeated it, the more it became clear he couldn't leave this behind. Not this time.
Ah'kaedh closed his eyes and inhaled one last time. He could almost feel her beside him.
Like the time she was kneeling on his right side. Ah'kaedh had been standing, free of his restraints, patiently indulging her fussing over his knee. He had his first walk just a couple of days ago, and the tiny pest insisted on checking all joints. Once satisfied she sat on the floor right where she was, looking up. Appraising his posture, muscles, skin.
Damn, I sure deserve the title of xenophysician now. Look at you, she had sounded joyful then.
"I'm going to end you", he growled into the rag.
It took him decades to reach his internal truce, and come to terms with his reality. And now another ooman, a fucking mercenary at that, robbed whatever peace he derived from it.
Maybe his memory of Her deteriorated, and this is just a mistake. Maybe (impossibly) this human indeed carries Her scent… Maybe they are related, and if they are, he may finally know what happened to Her.
And maybe (just maybe), once this hunt is done, Ah'kaedh will be able to do what the Girl wanted. Live.