I will not be sold. I will not let them win.
She didn’t know how she was going to escape, but somehow, she would. She would observe. She would learn. She would find out what kind of creatures these were, what their weaknesses might be, what opportunities existed for?—
For what? Overpowering creatures twice her size? Hacking alien technology she couldn’t even identify? Somehow piloting a spaceship when she could barely parallel park?
One step at a time.
She climbed to her feet. Her legs still shook, but less now. And with the same determination that had carried her through herchaotic childhood, she began a systematic examination of her cell. Every system had a weakness; she just had to find it.
CHAPTER TWO
Doren’s claws dug into the edge of the navigation console as the Ithyian ship lurched into hyperspace. The controls were sluggish, the calibration off by at least three degrees, and if he had to smell the unwashed bodies of these bottom-feeding slavers for one more rotation, he was going to start gutting people for sport.
Patience,he reminded himself.You’re here for a reason.
Three days since they’d left the blue-green planet behind—a primitive world, its inhabitants blissfully unaware that the universe was full of creatures who viewed them as merchandise. Pre-spaceflight civilizations were supposed to be protected and left alone to develop at their own pace. The Imperial Accords were very clear on that point.
The Ithyians didn’t give a damn about the Imperial Accords, although they had a healthy fear of the Royal Fleet. But space was vast and the Kaisarian Empire, mighty as it was, couldn’t control every centimeter of it.
“Coordinates locked for the rendezvous point,” he said, keeping his voice flat and professional. “We’ll reach the trade station in two standard days.”
Captain Morven grunted from his command chair, scratching at the thick body hair covering his forearm. “Good. The sooner we offload the cargo, the better.”
Cargo.Doren’s jaw tightened. He’d heard the guards talking in the corridor earlier, laughing about the human female they’d snatched. Talking about her like she was livestock and making crude jokes about what the buyers might do with her.
It had taken every ounce of his considerable self-control not to kill them both on the spot.
“Problem, navigator?” Morven’s beady eyes had fixed on him with sudden suspicion.
He forced his expression into something resembling bored indifference. “Just thinking about how much I hate this console. Whoever calibrated it should be spaced.”
“That would be Hetch.”
“Then Hetch was an incompetent fool.” He made a show of adjusting several settings, his movements deliberately casual. “No wonder you needed a replacement.”
Morven’s heavy brow furrowed. The previous navigator’s disappearance was still a sore subject. Doren had arranged that disappearance himself—a quiet word in the right ears, a debt called in, and suddenly Hetch had vanished into the seedy depths of the previous space station. It had cost Doren three favors and a not-insignificant pile of credits to insert himself onto this crew, and so far he had precious little to show for it.
He knew the Grorn were interested in this ship. His contacts had intercepted fragments of encrypted transmissions that mentioned theProfit Marginby name. The Grorn didn’t waste their attention on petty slavers unless they had something worth taking—and anything that caught the attention of those scale-faced fanatics was worth investigating. Unfortunately, he didn’t know why they were interested.
The Vault.It always came back to the Vault.
“Navigation is set,” he said, pushing back from the console. “Unless you need me to hold your hand through empty space, I’m going to get some rest.”
“Stay available.” Morven’s tone carried a clear warning. “I don’t trust you, half-breed.”
“You shouldn’t.” He flashed a smile that showed too many teeth. “I don’t trust anyone either. It’s what keeps us both alive.”
He left the bridge before Morven could respond, his boots silent on the metal deck plates. The Ithyian ship was a piece of garbage—outdated systems, poor maintenance, and a smell that permeated every corridor like something had died in the ventilation system. Which, knowing the Ithyians, was entirely possible.
His quarters were barely larger than a closet, but at least they had a door that locked. He palmed it open and slipped inside, immediately activating the portable scanner he’d hidden behind a wall panel. The device hummed softly as it swept for surveillance equipment.
Clear. For now.
He allowed himself a moment to drop the mask, his shoulders sagging as the tension he’d been carrying released. Two weeks on this ship. Two weeks of pretending to be just another mercenary navigator with flexible morals and no questions. Two weeks of watching these creatures profit from suffering and doing nothing about it.
The human female complicated things.
He pulled up the ship’s manifest on his personal datapad, scrolling through the encrypted files he’d managed to access. TheProfit Marginhad made six runs to pre-spaceflight planets over the past year, all in violation of the Accords. The Grorn interest seemed focused on something the captain had acquired recently—a small artifact that didn’t appear in any official inventory.
