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  There was a sudden stillness outside the trunk. The hovercraft had probably stopped at the gates. She felt Bechet’s muscles tense in concert with her own. Their shallow breaths coordinated as they strained to hear what the guards were saying to Lady Ris.

  When the hovercraft started up again, she could have sunk against Bechet in relief, but she wouldn’t make it that easy for him.

  Five minutes later, they were coursing at a decent speed through Bane. The noise level rose severely. Even through the container, she could hear the excited chatter of crowds.

  Another five minutes passed, and Lilly could feel their container being lifted and relocated. The trunk swayed with the rhythmic movement of pallbearers, periodically forcing her and her companion to roll against each other.

  Lilly noted that Remy had grown quiet, too. Although his gun was still talking.

  After what seemed like an eternity, someone opened the lid and removed the false bottom. Blinding light and relatively fresh air rushed in, and she and Bechet both sucked in long breaths of relief.

  “You first,” he said.

  Lilly grabbed the edge of the trunk and clambered out awkwardly. She hastily stepped away from her temporary prison and, unable to hold eye contact with her fellow prisoner, busied herself with straightening her bikini and robe.

  “Another minute, and I was gonna pass out,” Bechet said, his voice somewhat hoarse. He glanced around sharply.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked mechanically.

  “How did they carry us in here?”

  In here was the interior of a modest hotel bedroom with gray and red decor. The others were also present, either emerging from their trunks or stretching out their cramped muscles.

  “Holy crap, Captain!” Dreyla rushed up to him. “It only took two of the Ladies of Morbious to carry you and the sheriff in.”

  Bechet glanced at the monks in question, who loitered in the doorway, talking in hushed tones. He scanned their willowy limbs, but not, oddly enough, with lust. His look was one of sheer approval.

  So, strong women don’t intimidate him.

  “OK, Drey,” he said, “you, the sheriff, and Deputy Brand will change into your civvies, and as soon as it’s night, you’ll scout the… Butcher’s Place?”

  His gaze caught Lilly’s for the first time since their awkward trunk experience.

  She nodded. Normally, she hated when men stepped on her toes, but his orders weren’t meant to usurp her authority. He merely wanted to get this plan underway—just as much as she did.

  “Butcher’s Place,” he said, grimacing. “Wonder how they came up with that.”

  Chapter 7

  DREYLA

  “Whoa, big guy,” Dreyla said, keeping her voice low and steady. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

  The large man, pointing what seemed like an even larger blaster at her forehead, glanced downward and noticed her blade pressed ever so slightly against his crotch.

  She arched one eyebrow, relishing his sharp intake of breath.

  Off to the side, Sheriff Greyson prepared to draw her pistol, but another man had crept up behind her with his gun drawn. He, in turn, had Deputy Brand’s pistol pointed at his head, and Brand herself seemed to be the target of a third man’s weapon.

  Stalemate. Or rather, a chain of disasters waiting to be triggered.

  Dreyla had told the sheriff it was a bad idea to be conspicuous about seeking out information on the nano-biotics, but as usual, the “adults” hadn’t listened. And now, here she and her two cohorts stood, in a standoff with three intimidating yet brainless thugs in a greasy, debris-filled alley.

  Yet another reason she loved the captain: even when in a disagreeable mood, he listened—listened to everybody—and then made what he considered the best decision. Of course, his brain didn’t typically process the information as everyone else would, which was why he and his crew often ended up taking the not-so-smart path. Still, he did listen.

  Would he listen, though, if Dreyla warned him about his infatuation with the sheriff? With that pretty face? That curvaceous figure? Nah, men were stupid.

  Like this dude. His ugly face was getting dumber by the second. He was about to do something rash.

  “Easy,” Sheriff Greyson said. “Everybody, just calm down.”

  “And I said… drop yo’ weapons,” the thug holding his gun at the sheriff ’s head growled in an equally authoritative tone.

  Dreyla’s assailant glanced away for a second, giving her an opening. Without hesitation, she slid around him, pushed his gun hand up in the air, and twisted it behind him. She ended up with her back against the concrete wall of a nearby building and her blade at the man’s throat. Lucky that his gun hadn’t gone off, as it might have alerted passersby—although in the shithole that was Bane, they’d already heard numerous rounds of gunfire.

  “You little bitch,” he growled.

  Her sly move had gotten everyone’s attention. The other two thugs blinked rapidly, darting glances at each other. Deputy Brand’s mouth was slack, while the sheriff, a half-smile on her face, just offered Dreyla a tiny nod.

  Still holding her blade against the thug’s neck, Dreyla cleared her throat. “Do what the lady said… and calm down.”

  Sheriff Greyson carefully removed her hand from her holstered pistol and brought it up to her jacket, keeping her fingers visible. “I don’t know who you all think we are,” she said, her voice still admirably calm.

  “We been told to keep an eye out for anyone we’s don’t know, askin’ ’bout nans,” the thug behind the sheriff snarled, jiggling his gun for emphasis.

  “We’re just here to do a little business.” Sheriff Greyson cautiously turned her head to catch the apparent ringleader’s eye. “Look, I’m going to reach into my jacket… slowly… and show you.”

  The woman was steady, Dreyla had to give her credit for that. Unlike poor Deputy Brand, whose sweat dribbled down her forehead, her blonde hair hanging limp against her pale cheeks. Her reaction only confirmed Dreyla’s theory that she was one of Sheriff Greyson’s newest deputies.

  Well, nothing like a trial by fire. Dreyla knew a thing or two about that.

  Sheriff Greyson pulled out several packets of nano-biotics and extended them toward the man behind her. In a flash, he grabbed them and inspected the packaging, which required him to shift his undivided focus from his target. Perhaps the situation was finally easing up.

  “These ain’t got the scanner stamps.” He flapped the packages under the sheriff’s nose.

  “Precisely. We’ve got a shipment of counterfeit meds we’d like to unload in the market.”

  Shaking his head, the man slowly lowered his gun. “Mr. Darkbur says no counterfeit nans in the market, seeing as he’s got the real thing over at the Butcher’s.”

  He motioned for the man with the gun pointed at Deputy Brand to lower his weapon. He then shot a disgusted look at the other one, the one who’d allowed Dreyla to get the better of him.

  Sensing the situation was under control, Dreyla lowered her blade and stepped out from behind her quarry. Suddenly, the thug caught her face with a backhand, propelling her into the wall.

  Ouch. The painful blow of smashing against the concrete just compounded the insult.

  She blinked her stinging eyes, her vision watery and blurry. She couldn’t decide whether her face or her skull ached more. Both throbbed with pain, and she tasted blood in the back of her throat.

  The sheriff had drawn her pistol and pointed it at the thug’s face. Brand’s gun had swung to the same man. And the man that had previously held the sheriff at gunpoint had returned to the same position as before.

  Oh, great. Back right where we started.

  “OK, now yous, all ease down,” the thug leader said. “Georgie here was just pissed the little girl got the jump on him.”

  Dreyla dabbed the blood dripping from her nose and slowly righted herself. Once again, everyone lowered their weapons. Sheriff Greyson shot her a
sympathetic look. Dreyla shrugged. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time a dirtbag had caught her off-guard with a backhand. Of course, usually the guy in question soon felt her blades gliding across his legs and stomach, but this wasn’t the time for those kinds of moves.

  “Yous can take your trash and unload it in Naillik or one of the other towns… just not here,” the leader said. With a glare of disgust, he slapped the packs back into Sheriff Greyson’s outstretched hand and motioned for his men to move out.

  The three men withdrew from the alley and strutted onto the street, probably to harass someone else. Dreyla and her two companions breathed a sigh of relief, then Sheriff Greyson handed Dreyla a medical wipe she’d produced from her jacket pocket.

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff smiled. “Just Lilly.”

  Dreyla shrugged again and dabbed at the blood on her face, wondering how crappy she looked. Remy would certainly have a fit when he saw her. Still, it was a small price to pay.

  “So, at least we know for sure where Darkbur’s keeping the meds,” Lilly said.

  Brand, some of whose natural color had returned, crinkled her brow. “What I don’t get is why Darkbur’s not advertising that he’s got the meds. I would’ve figured word would be out by now, and people would be lining up to get them.”

  “He’s probably selling to only rich scumbags,” Dreyla said. “Those he knows will pay premium.” Having dealt with scum like these guys before, she pretty much knew the score.

  “I’d say you’re right,” Lilly said. “He’s cashing in, and then once the seriously rich have gotten their meds, he’s going to hold the rest hostage in exchange for control of the planet.”

  The trio grew quiet. This was one massively screwed-up situation.

  “How can he possibly think that would fly?” Dreyla asked hotly. “If there are a bunch of planets out there where you all came from, he’s got to know that reinforcements will come.”

  Lilly sighed. “They’re months away, and by that time, he’ll own the planet.” Her eyes lost focus for a moment.

  “You all don’t have any resources closer?” Dreyla asked.

  “There are several small space stations orbiting the planet, but that includes a rather well-armed one that represents Bane,” Lilly replied.

  The sheriff… Lilly… looked a bit lost. This was a shitstorm of trouble she had to deal with, and obviously, the fact that she needed the captain’s help meant that she and her deputies were under-resourced.

  Lilly straightened her posture and shook her head. “Come on, look sharp, let’s get back to the others. We need to tell them what we found out.”

  Chapter 8

  SHAW

  “No, Commander, it’s like a low-grade version of our TZ107,” Zain said, offering her the measuring device.

  Shaw scanned the readouts from the tests Zain had run on the Vox7. The combustion efficiency figures were a whole magnitude lower than she would have expected.

  “So, that’s why their ships seem so underpowered.”

  Zain nodded. “The Vox7 provides them with a good source of energy, but it can’t access the dark streams and therefore can’t draw from them.”

  “You’re saying we’re stuck on this planet?” Jibs whined.

  Shaw turned to her sallow-faced second officer. “Calm down, Jibs. We don’t need to go that far, or even that fast, to get the hell out of here. We just need to find that portal and then get back to our solar system.”

  She’d made the plan sound so simple, but what were the chances of it working out? Some of the portals bounced around, didn’t they? Entropy and randomness wouldn’t grind to a halt just because she desperately needed them to. Even if they did manage to procure a ship, and they found a portal somewhere near the orbit of this planet, they could conceivably find themselves traveling to a whole new universe, not their own.

  Still, if anyone could get them into space, Zain could. She’d take Jibs along in case she needed any dirty work done on the way. Plus, the two men seemed to be operating well together, despite their current circumstances.

  “It’s our best plan,” Zain said, clicking off the display.

  Zain was keeping up a brave face—probably for his colleague’s sake. Jibs did seem a bit gloomy, after all. But surely, her first officer had also pondered the impossibility of their situation and reached his own ever-logical conclusion?

  He winced. “The problem is, there aren’t that many ships capable of breaking orbit. At least, not here in Bane.”

  “Yes, but how many, and how well guarded?” she demanded.

  Her patience was frayed. She had left the task of formulating an escape plan to her two officers while she dealt with Darkbur, and none of them had gotten very far with either.

  Hopefully, the Darkbur problem would solve itself more quickly.

  Darius had agreed with her they should at least be running facial rec at the gates into Bane. She’d also managed to persuade him that searching for a whole crew involved in any attempted recovery effort would slow down entry too much. It was enough to keep a lookout for the sheriff and the pirate.

  “There are only two ships here, and they’re heavily guarded,” Jibs said. “Unless Darkbur’s men were going to lend us a hand, I didn’t see any way of stealing one.”

  All Shaw heard were excuses. She gave her second officer a withering look. “Well, Jibs, Darkbur’s men won’t exactly be aiding us in this escape, so it’s time we started looking elsewhere for a ship. Plus, one of those is likely his.”

  “You figure Bechet’s already in town, trying to help the sheriff get those meds back?” Zain asked, fingering his chin.

  Shaw nodded. Perhaps Bechet was aiding the sheriff, but only in the hopes of procuring a ship that he and his crew could take—as a reward for helping to save everyone on the planet.

  It wasn’t such a bad plan. Damn him anyway. Pity he’d thought of it first... if that was indeed what he was doing. The fact that he’d apparently rescued the sheriff and her people from the Johnson had admittedly confused her. Why the hell hadn’t the pirate just escaped in the med ship when he’d had the chance? That was curious. Hopefully, there was nothing wrong with that vessel.

  “Keep a close eye on that transport you found,” she said, addressing Zain. “As soon as I can get free of Darkbur and his men, we’ll head to Naillik. I think we might find the med ship there isn’t being guarded.”

  Zain’s eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do, Commander, in the meantime?”

  She hesitated. Should she tell them? Hell, what did she have to lose? They already knew her history. They’d understand why this had to be done.

  “On the off chance Bechet is in town, I’m going to see if I can kill him before we leave.” She grinned. “Call it a bon voyage to me.”

  Chapter 9

  REMY

  “Now this is more like it.”

  While scanning for danger, Remy also took in the sumptuous crimson wallpaper, heavy oaken furniture, and golden lamp fixtures surrounding him. He currently stood in the spacious foyer of the Butcher’s Place, a hybrid hotel, brothel, and saloon. In fact, he could see the dimly lit saloon through an open doorway, and just one glimpse had assured him it was the kind of dive bar he usually favored.

  Since accidentally leaving his own galaxy, this was the closest he’d gotten to the look and feel of an Earth-based residence... or, rather, one of the more popular Earth-based brothels. The sunlight filtering through the dust motes only added to the establishment’s elegant shabbiness.

  “Not my style,” Milo grunted. “It’s the color of a mine rat’s intestines.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not hanging around for long.”

  If the information Dreyla and the sheriff had provided proved accurate, somewhere inside this place lay the drugs they needed to steal back.

  As Remy passed a gilded mirror, he did a double take. The servant’s garb Lady Ris had found for him to wear was ill-fitting—the pants too short, the coa
t too large—but the cap managed, arguably, to pull it all together. Indeed, most people would notice the felt hat first. While Drey had thought it looked silly, she couldn’t deny that it perfectly suited the role he was playing. He would’ve preferred one with a brim, but servants apparently didn’t get that luxury.

  Milo had approached the mirror, too. Cocking his head, he surveyed his own costume. Almost as soon as they’d arrived in Bane, Lady Ris had located a tailor and some splendid materials. Within a couple of hours, they had fabricated an authentic aristocrat’s outfit. The dworg seemed positively regal.

  And this was key to Remy’s plan: Milo had to appear to be in possession of serious wealth. Remy had at first argued that Jacer was the obvious choice for the “rich guy” role, but that assumption was purely based on his knowledge of literary elven societies, which apparently had little to do with real-life aflins. The dworgs, he’d been told, had a wide range of income levels, due to an imbalance of power, whereas the aflins believed in equal wealth distribution. There was just so much he didn’t understand about this backwards-assed world.

  In the area of wealth, Lady Ris had once again stepped up to assist them. The only one with enough resources to finance the charade they were attempting, she had graciously transferred half a million credits to Milo, so he and Remy could pull off their scheme.

  “Let’s grab a drink at the bar,” Remy said.

  What was the point of being flush if you couldn’t taste the local brew? Surely, Lady Ris wouldn’t mind. Besides, it was all part of the act.

  He stepped aside to let Milo walk in front of him and then followed obediently, which didn’t come easy for him. But he reminded himself that he’d better get the hang of it pretty damn quick, or he’d blow the whole operation before it even began.

  Since it was only midday, the place wasn’t terribly crowded. At night, the miners from outside the city limits would most likely make their way in to spend their day’s wages, while the locals would just as likely show up to ease the day’s misery.