Chapter One
I'm being watched.
The fine hairs on Sabria's bare arms lifted and her skin
tingled, early warning signals that had saved her life in
the past. She curled her fingers around the handle of her
gun, the cool metal reassuring her, her skills honed from a
lifetime spent hiding on hostile planets. Show no fear. She
inhaled, counted to five, exhaled, and pivoted on her booted
heels.
She saw nothing, the illuminated walkway devoid of life, the
citizens of Symrah III honoring the newly established
curfew, the Federation at war with the vicious Balazoids.
Sabria peered into the shadows, cocked her head and listened
for the rustle of cloth, the whisper of shoes against
simulated stone or the telltale click of a trigger.
"I'm armed," she called out, hoping to scare her stalker
away. No one replied.
Traz, where are you? Sabria glanced at the night sky,
searching for her brother's ship. Vessels shot across the
darkness, the small specks of light too far away to be
identified. The three moons hung low on the horizon, casting
a pale glow over the rooftops.
There was no sign of Traz. She scanned the area. Or her
mysterious watcher.
The streetcrawler positioned at her feet broke the silence,
beeping and whirling as it awaited much–needed
repairs, its lights flickering and its shell dented.
"Yes, yes, Bits, I'll fix you up." Sabria crouched by the
cute little bot. "What happened to your shell?" She
extracted the suction tool from her work belt. "Did some
mean Federation man kick you?"
Sabria applied the mouth of the tool to the foot–sized
dent. "There are some bad men in the world." She pulled and
the metal popped into place. "People say my brother is one
of them because he looks and acts tough...and because he
escaped prison." As she removed the suction tool, the bot
chirped happily, its appreciation gratifying. "But he's not.
He went to prison to protect me."
Sabria flipped the streetcrawler over. "And you'll help me
purge his records yet again," she whispered. She slid a card
into the slot she'd modified during the previous round of
repairs. "For a few months, maybe even a year, he won't be
persecuted. He'll be free, equal to any other Federation
citizen." She righted the bot. "You'll do that for me, won't
you?" She patted its shell and the machine cooed
contentedly, rubbing against her legs.
"And as a thank–you, I'll replace all of your lights."
She pulled the filaments from her pocket. "My boss says you
don't need lights, they're not necessary for you to work,
but I know you like to be fully operational." The bot pushed
against her hand.
As she fiddled with the front beams, installing and aligning
them properly, the feeling of being watched intensified.
Hoping to distract her stalker, she deliberately dropped a
straighter. The tool clattered on the manufactured rock and
she spun around.
She caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off an
inhumanly pale male hand before her watcher disappeared into
the shadows once more. He's a harmless android. Sabria
relaxed, tension easing from her shoulders. "Are you broken?"
There was a long pause. "Yes." That single word echoed as
though it traveled over a long distance, the android's voice
low and deep and arousing.
He's a machine. Sabria shook her head, banishing her instant
attraction to him. "I'll fix you." She straightened. "Stay
still." The streetcrawler at her feet obediently froze in place.
Sabria approached the shadows, her body trembling with
awareness. He must be a companion android. That's why I'm
having this strange reaction. She fumbled in her tool belt
for her diagnostic device, androids being more complicated
than streetcrawlers to fix. "Have you identified your
malfunction?"
"No," he growled, expressing an impressive degree of emotion.
Red eyes blazed in the dark. Sabria blinked, confused. Why
would his visual system revert to such an inhuman setting?
The only species with red eyes is—
Shoes scuffed against the pedestrian walkway behind her.
"Shit." Sabria drew her gun as she turned. A beam arced
before she could fire and her weapon flew from her hands,
her fingers throbbing with pain. She reached for her daggers.
"Don't even think about it, bitch," Rium sneered, the
greasy–haired Symrah soldier flanked by two of his
henchmen. All three men held guns in their multiple right
hands, leering grins plastered across their ugly faces.
"After General Camur's assassination, we were given orders
to shoot any suspicious characters."
"I'm not a suspicious character." She raised her hands in
the air, defiantly meeting the power–high soldier's
gaze, Rium grasping onto any weakness, any reason to torment
her. "I have authorization to be here. I'm repairing the
streetcrawlers."
"That's a perfect cover for an assassin." Rium's gaze
drifted down her body, lingering on her breasts and groin,
his perusal making her skin creep. "And your brother isn't
exactly an upstanding citizen. No one would question your
guilt."
Sabria stayed silent, recognizing the truth of his words.
"But we'll make you a deal." Rium licked his plump lips,
leaving a trail of saliva on his flesh. "You be nice to us,
all of us." The men grinned, their flight suits tented
around hard cocks. "And we'll let you go."
"No." Sabria edged away from them, coiling her body,
preparing to run, to risk her life to avoid that fate.
"You're not touching me." She sprinted.
They lunged in a synchronized assault. One man yanked her
arm and she spun. Another man ripped her top, cool air
hitting her skin. She extracted her daggers and attacked
blindly, slicing her blades across the closest assailant's
chest, digging two deep stripes into his flesh. He howled in
agony and dropped to his knees, blood gushing between his
fingers.
Rium's other henchman fell backward, gurgling, a black
throwing star lodged deep in his throat. Sabria glanced
behind her. No one stood there. She was alone. How—
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