“I’ll pay whatever you want,” he glanced at Tim,” within reason, of course.”
This seemed like an indication that the big alien was willing to bargain, but other than the ship, Tim had nothing to bargain with.
Information? He couldn’t share information about the Garradians with these people.
He gave what he hoped was a contemptuous glance around him.
“I need a ship, not currency,” he said.
“I have ships! I have many ships! Come, I will show you!”
If he’d truly been alone on his ship, he’d never have left it. But it felt like a look around might help with their data collection. They were flying blind here.
He gave a sharp nod, one that he hoped gave no quarter in the agreement to look.
“You will withdraw your people,” Tim added.
“Of course! Of course!” The big man’s hands waved, and the smaller aliens began to retreat.
They could, of course, come back as soon as Tim was out of sight, but Trac was in the shuttle, and his sensors were working.
The big man lead him toward the clunky flyer and Tim followed him inside, his cyborg defenses still fully deployed.
At the place where ramp reached the door, Tim felt a tingle along the edges of his energy barrier and gave mental thanks he was still on his guard.
If the big one was disappointed when Tim continued inside with no sign of distress, he managed to hide most of it.
The big one indicated a seat. Tim shook his head. From the dim recesses of his memory, he recalled being strapped in a chair…
“I’ll stand,” he said. He had a good chance of breaking free from restraints, but again, not wise to test that right now.
The flyer lifted off with many jerks. Tim rode them easily, but it did explain the erratic course it had flown in coming toward them. He could tell the engine was barely functioning. The big alien maintained his gear as poorly as his junk yard.
He compared what he now saw with their past experiences. They’d only ventured into them as a last resort. There was always the risk that any part they bought would be as damaged as the one they needed to replace. A couple of times, the junk owner had attempted to cash in on the bounty on their heads. They’d learned better, for the most part. Once the owner had insisted on not surviving to learn. CabeX never liked killing and had been angry about it. Not with them but with the fool who had challenged them.
Despite the unappealing looks of both the large and small aliens, Tim felt no desire to end their lives. In his experience, most of those eking out an existence on the fringes of space were either doing their best, or doing what they’d been taught to do
The pilot of the junk flyer steered the craft low over the piles of debris, its screen working well enough for him to see the myriad of broken ships and other space debris, both below and above them. So far, he’d seen no sign of a space capable craft, certainly not one able to go into jump.
What he needed was access to some star charts. He—they needed to know where they were and how to get home.
Their shuttle had some jump capability, but it lacked the star drive that had brought them to Arroxan Prime.
They could now be years or longer, from getting back to Garradian space.
As they flew, Tim heard the big one pointing out some of his prize pieces. As the alien spoke, Tim worked his way carefully into the flyer’s systems, looking for usable data.
He had to be so careful. This place was loaded with traps and hacking devices. His head ached from being under such concentrated attack.
But he also became aware that the alien had not tried to kill him.
He’d tried to capture him.
That was troubling. Did that mean he also dealt in the slave trade? That—and, or possibly or—data mining, were the only two reasons he could think of for them to want to take him alive.
Right now, it was the alienss’ hope of securing the shuttle that kept things relatively civil, or so Tim assumed.
He lacked experience. Or did he? He’d observed many interactions of evil men during his years as a slave. Surely, he’d learned something from that time?
