As my only answer, I crawl into the sleeping cocoon and start undressing.
Men are so easily distracted.
25-Prax
I make sure Neela is fast asleep before I sneak out of our shelter. It's the middle of the night, and an eerie stillness hangs in the air. The sky is overcast, completely blocking the faint glow Phobos could've offered. Fine by me. I can handle darkness just fine—and in fact, it makes me less visible.
Before I leave the thicket that hides our camp, I hesitate. Should I mark the area with my pheromones like I usually do? The scent normally keeps predators at bay—it works pretty well, actually. But if another Sadjim—or worse, a Srebat—is working with Bully, it'll be like waving a red flag to show them exactly where I’ve stashed my mate. I decide to skip the marking this time and rely on the hope that any feline-type who gets close will still smell my presence.
I move cautiously, placing each step with care. Judging by the heavy silence, their base seems to be asleep. But I know Penubiens. They're cunning and sneaky bastards. Nothing should ever be taken for granted with them.
When I finally reach their camp, I grit my teeth in frustration. There are more ships than I expected. A large, makeshift hangar sits in the middle of the wide clearing—probably to store gear or cages. I count four two-seaters on the right and a transport vessel on the left, beyond the hangar. Disappointingly, Bully’s single-seater is nowhere in sight.
I creep closer to the central building, hoping to get a better look at what's inside. No luck. It's made of old Coalition-grade composite—no windows, no opacity controls. Which means I can't see or hear a thing from the inside.
As for the five ships parked in the clearing, they’ve all got their access ramps closed for the night. No time to waste, especially with the bitter cold seeping through even my thermo-regulated gear. Good thing my fur’s thick.
I make my way back to camp and find Neela still asleep. I pull her close, savoring her warmth—but I don’t close my eyes. My brain spins through dozens of scenarios, peppered with a thousand questions.
How many are there? Eight? Ten? Twelve? More?
Where the hell is Bully?
Does the rest of the Coalition know about these two unguarded planets sitting in this solar system like low-hanging fruit? Or did Bully keep it quiet among a few trusted cronies?
Can I take them all on by myself?
How do I keep Neela safe while I act?
By the time the first light creeps in, I still haven’t made up my mind. Pallas and my beautiful Human are both asleep. In a flash, I know what I’m going to do. I grab both my pistoblasters, set them to lethal mode, and head back to their base. Time to make a move.
From a hidden spot, I scope the area. I get a good view of the machines on the ground and keep quiet. The ship ramps are now down, and I spot two figures at the hangar’s entrance. Doesn't tell me much about where the rest of the crew is—except these two are definitely Penubiens. That scaly greenish skin, tinged red at the head, is unmistakable. I don’t see anyone else. Either they’re in the hangar or still inside the ships.
I listen carefully and pick up their snake-like voices. One is offering the other a stick of urak—a dried plant they roll up and smoke like some kind of alien cigar. Pretty popular among a few species.
“Once break’s over, we start loading the cages onto the cargo ship. I want that done before the boss shows up,” one says.
They’re speaking in Penubien—a language the Coalition’s translators don’t cover. But mine’s Confed-issued. Nothing gets lost.
I wonder who this “boss” is. Could it be Bully? That would explain why he’s not around.
“When’s he getting here?” the second one asks.
“He went with Franly to straighten things out at the other colony. One of his pawns over there was getting a bit too comfy, or so I heard.”
“All right, shouldn’t take long then. We’d better get moving.”
“You got it. Mank, Gund! Start loading in five minutes!” he yells into the hangar.
So, two on the doorstep, two inside. Since Franly is Bully's closest cousin, I now have my answer: Bully is indeed their leader. No surprise there. Bully always had ambition bursting out his scales. Even back when we worked together, he’d get on my case for lacking “vision.” I owned the ship, so he had to play by my rules—but he always wanted more.
Me? I liked simple jobs. Loot a few precious resources from peaceful villages, lay low, and stretch the profits. Low risk, high reward. Rinse, repeat. Occasionally, I’d feel a twinge of guilt stealing from people who barely had anything, but I pushed that feeling away—until one woman made me stop pretending.
Bully, though? He’s not the self-reflective type. When our partnership ended, it unshackled him completely. Now there’s no one telling him, “Hey, maybe don’t enslave half a planet.”He’s the kind of guy who sees limits as personal challenges. Ethics? Compassion? Not even in his vocabulary.
The two Penubians finish their break and step into the hangar. I take the opportunity to slip off to the right, heading for the two-seater ships. I target the farthest one. Drawing both my weapons, I stride up the ramp with steady resolve and dive into its belly. This kind of ship only has a cockpit at the front and a small relaxation area in the back, with two retractable bunk drawers. The restroom is located at the tail end.
Inside, a Penubian is sprawled on one of the bunks, clearly enjoying some alone time. From what I hear, the second one's in the shower. No hesitation—I shoot the one on the bunk first. He'd already sprung up, fangs out, ready to rip my throat out. He collapses silently back onto the mattress. My lovely Human would probably scold me for not just knocking him out. But I know this organization—and this species—far too well. Leaving him alive means giving him a chance to kill me within the hour, once the stun effect wears off. I have to take them out one by one.
