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“I’m kidding,” she teases, and leans in. “It’s a comm channel so you can talk to me…or is it?” She gives me a fanged grin. “Who can say?”
“You’re supposed to say, you keffing ass. You’re our hired bodyguard!”
“Yes, but what’s an adventure without a little danger?” Her hair tinkles like wind chimes as she adjusts her weapons belt. “Shall we go, my precious babies? Time’s wasting and I’m being paid by the hour.”
“No, you’re not,” Nassakth growls.
“I could be.”
“But you’re not.”
“No fun,” she pouts. “So stuffy. Come on, then. Let’s go say hello to the family.“
64
NASSAKTH
Space stations have a particular smell. It’s one that permeates the bones, clinging to you like a sticky fabric. It’s a toxic mix of old sweat, air that’s been recycled too many times, and a low-level garbage stink that annoys my sensitive praxiian nose.
My parents won’t be here. There’s no way. No praxiian in his right mind would be at this station, where the walls are stained with old filth and bodies press against one another in the narrow, dark halls. It looks like a pirate’s den.
Probably because it is. I glance over at Bethiah and pull Kim closer to me protectively. Most stations are unappealing and poor, but this one is arguably the worst I’ve seen. “This is the place you picked for us to meet?”
She gestures around us, elbowing a helmeted krakenoid out of the way as she strides forward. “Do you think there’s anything worth bothering with in this station?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Which is why it’s perfect.” She gestures at a junction at the end of the hall. “Come on, this way.”
I can feel Kim’s hands clinging to my belt, her smaller frame tucked against my arm as we navigate our way—more like push our way—through the crowd. The docks are packed, and as the hall widens, I notice some enterprising vendors haven’t even bothered to head to the bazaar. They loiter near doors, looking furtive, and show me a handful of high-end datapads as I walk past. “Get you a deal? Best prices in the galaxy!”
I ignore them and pull Kim closer. I’m not entirely surprised when I see one of the mesakkah brothers move to her other side. It’s the tall one with a dangerous glint in his eyes—Kaspar. He nods at me, fingering his weapons. More security. I’ll take it. Five years of life on a farm planet has made me soft. I’ve forgotten how it feels to rub shoulders with the dregs of the universe.
Bethiah wades in as if she belongs here, pushing aside dirty-looking thieves and patting an urchin on the head between his horns before moving on. She saunters through the crowd with purpose, and sometimes the only way I can still see her is because of her ridiculous net of hair she’s woven between her horns and the chiming of the metal hair ornaments. She’s far too comfortable here, I think, as she slows beside another bounty hunter and they assess one another. It reminds me that for all her playfulness, this is a female that only pays attention to the law when it suits her.
The halls are oppressive and muggy with the stink and crowd of bodies, and I try to breathe shallowly, keeping Kim close. She hasn’t said a thing, hasn’t protested, but I know this has to be terrifying for her. Luckily, we haven’t seen any humans—or any lrulti for that matter. I don’t want her to see one at all. I didn’t even consider that when I planned this reunion with my parents, and now I realize that was a mistake. She panicked at the sight of a bug in my house—what will she do if we see a lrulti in this environment?
“You’re squeezing my shoulder too tight,” she says to me, her voice muffled under her head wrap. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I won’t be okay until we’re home again.
She tucks her hand in mine, and I think once again how lucky I am to have her.
Bethiah disappears into the crowd at the junction, and I look around at the wide open space ahead of us. Booths are set up, ragged-looking stalls and vendors piled atop one another, selling wares that would be illegal in several systems. Impossibly, there seem to be even more people here, a low hum of voices and a cloud of stink incredibly offensive to my nose.
On Kim’s other side, Kaspar points. “She’s up ahead.”
I follow where he’s pointing, and Bethiah is there, waiting at the entrance to a double-doored cantina. She’s talking with a burly szzt who stands guard, and as we approach, she slides him a few credits. “You’ll find us a table?” she asks in a sweet voice.
“You’ll find your own table,” he says, glancing at our group.
Bethiah shrugs and glances over at us. “Come on, then.”
