from Cerberus? She was more dangerous than anyone else I knew. Killing Hive and selling them for parts? No problem. But even I had some honor left. And if Ulza’s words were true and the female in question was here in the outer reaches of Coalition-controlled space because of Cerberus?
She’d gotten mixed up in serious stuff. The question was how?
No. I had to stay focused on why I was here. Sticking one’s nose in other people’s business was a good way to die.
“Are you sure, Isaak? I wouldn’t want to have to kill you.”
“I’m sure.”
“I paid you as agreed. Now, I have business with Jirghogis.”
I looked up then, the deadly blue Cerberus female watching me over the top of her drink. I knew I should keep my farking mouth shut, but I wasn’t an outcast because I always did the smart thing. The right thing? Usually. But the smartest? No. Seems I hadn’t learned a damn thing.
“Exactly what kind of business?”
She tapped her armband. I was shocked to receive an answer. “I am to deliver the human to Cerberus myself.”
Her cackle made me sick. For the past five years, ever since I’d begun trading in stolen Hive tech, Ulza and I stayed out of each other’s way… outside of our tech dealings. I had no desire for that situation to change. She was a cousin to Cerberus himself, was a member of Cerberus legion and a known associate of the Silver Scions, a tightly knit syndicate of doctors, engineers, scientists and killers from every sector of the galaxy. They bought Hive integration technology and sold what they could on the black market as surgical enhancements to anyone with the credits to pay for it.
Ulza bought every piece of Hive tech I brought to her without complaint. I didn’t like her, but I liked her business model. She always paid, up front and on time, and never asked where I procured my goods.
“And Jirghogis procured her from…?” I asked although I knew she wouldn’t answer this one. I pushed my beverage container across the scarred tabletop. The thought of any human—fark that, anyone at all—dealing with Jirghogis, the creature whose shipment warehouse was used for illegal trade and auctions, made me choke down bile. He was far from humanoid, a hideous creature with huge eyes and a tail thicker than my torso. His exoskeleton was covered in scales, and those scales? Coated in poisonous slime that emitted an odor designed to sear the lungs of anyone who got too close.
“So you are interested in the female.” She tipped her head to the others at tables nearby. “Like everyone else under this dome.”
“Simply curious. We don’t get many humans out here,” I replied, glancing toward the nearest exit. It was time to leave. I had no desire to investigate the appearance of an unknown human nor in why Cerberus wanted her. The last time I’d tried to save someone, my brother, Malik, had paid the ultimate price for my failure. The accident was five years past. The memory of him dying in my arms so vivid, it could have been five hours ago.
The wrong Councilor’s son had died that day. Malik had bled out in my arms in the middle of the desert, and there hadn’t been one farking thing I could do to save him. My father lost his heir, the responsible son, the one groomed from birth to take his place, and had been left with me.
Rebellious. Impulsive. Bored with politics. Lacking in both patience and diplomacy. My brother had been mere minutes older than me, but his spirit had been wise. Measured. Compassionate.
Everything I was not.
Memories of my brother’s face pushed into my mind, and I forced them away. No. I wasn’t interested in saving anyone. Not anymore.
I had finally completed my goal and gathered enough credit for the one thing I did want to buy, a weapons upgrade for my ship. Fuck yes. The Scion Spectra IV ion cannon. For several years now, I’d hunted down every Hive Soldier, Scout and Integration Unit I could find. I killed them all, without mercy, and stripped them for parts to sell to the Silver Scions. Where those Hive parts ended up or inside whom, I couldn’t care less. That was not my concern. If some asshole from Rogue 5 wanted a cyborg arm or enhanced vision, good on him—as long as he paid.